-  So 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL 


THE    HAPPY    FOOL 


BY 

JOHN   PALMER 

AUTHOR   OF    "THE    KING'S   MEN,' 
"PETEH   PARAGON," 

ETC. 


NEW  YORK 
HARCOURT,  BRACE  AND  COMPANY 


To 
ALFRED   SUTRO 

THIS  NOVEL  is 

AFFECTIONATELY 

INSCRIBED 


2137699 


CHAPTER     I. 

§  i 

GUY  REVAL  and  his  brother  were  half-way 
through  breakfast  when  the  letters  arrived. 
Guy  sat  in  a  beam  of  spring  sunshine.  His  hair 
was  abundant,  with  a  tendency  to  resist  the  comb. 
It  was  not  gold,  but  the  sun  revealed  in  it  unexpected 
lights,  between  red  and  yellow,  which  were  normally 
extinguished  in  a  sober  brown.  His  eyes  were 
bright  blue.  He  looked  younger  than  his  brother  ; 
but  that  may  only  have  been  because  his  brother 
was  reading  the  Times. 

Theodore  Reval  was  really  not  more  than 
sixteen  months  older  than  Guy,  and  so  far  they 
had  kept  together.  They  were  contemporaries  at 
Balliol,  as  they  had  been  contemporaries  at  school 
and  in  the  nursery.  They  had  rooms  side  by  side 
in  the  Garden  Quadrangle.  Guy's  sitting-room 
was  for  meals  and  pastimes.  Theodore's  room,  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  turret  stair,  was  for  reading 
and  writing. 

Theodore  was  of  the  same  middle  height  as  his 
brother ;  he  had  the  same  deep-set  blue  eyes,  the 
same  straight  brows  and  wide  forehead,  the  same 
firm  chin  and  capable  mouth.  But  Theodore  was 
severely  moulded.  The  noses  were  different.  Guy's 
nose  was  distinctly  a  feature  that  had  gone  wrong. 
It  just  failed  of  being  a  snub.  Theodore's  nose,  on 


2  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

the  other  hand,  was  correct,  with  nothing  retro- 
gressive about  it.  The  eyes  of  the  two  brothers, 
though  of  the  same  shape  and  colour,  were  different 
in  their  expression  and  effect.  There  was  calcula- 
tion and  a  steady  appreciation  of  men  and  things 
in  Theodore's  eyes.  His  brother's  eyes  hovered  and 
rambled,  and  kindled  upon  the  least  provocation. 

The  letters  arrived  and  Theodore  opened  an 
envelope.  A  cheque  fluttered  to  the  table. 

"  Aunt  Helen,"  he  announced,  "  sends  me  a 
cheque  for  £25.  To-day,  of  course,  is  her  birthday. 
We  ought  to  have  remembered." 

"  Do  I  come  into  this  ?  "  Guy  asked. 

He  picked  out  his  letters  from  among  the  break- 
fast, threw  some  bills  into  a  basin,  and  lit  upon  an 
envelope  addressed  in  a  neat  Victorian  hand.  He 
broke  it  open,  discovered  a  cheque,  and  read  : 

Fern  Cottage, 

Hampstead, 

July  isth,  19— 
Dearest  Guy, 

You  have  doubtless  forgotten  that  to-morrow  is 
my  birthday,  but  I  am  sure  you  will  like  to  celebrate  it. 
I  am  sending  you  a  cheque  for  £25.  Do  not  get  into 
more  mischief  than  you  can  help. 

Yours  affectionately, 
AUNT  HELEN. 

Guy  put  the  letter  into  one  pocket  and  the 
cheque  into  another. 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  3 

"  Theodore,"  he  said,  "  why  didn't  you  remind 
me  about  Aunt  Helen's  birthday  ?  You  always 
remember  birthdays." 

"  I  remembered  it  two  days  ago,"  said  Theodore, 
pettishly.  "  Then  I  began  to  think  about  my 
speech  at  the  Union." 

"  I  wonder  why  you  think  about  your  speeches 
at  the  Union  ?  "  said  Guy. 

"  What  are  we  going  to  do  about  it  ?  "  he  added. 

"  I,"  said  Theodore,  "  shall  buy  Max  Muller's 
edition  of  Kant's  Critique  of  Pure  Reason." 

"  There's  rosemary,"  said  Guy.  "  That's  for 
remembrance." 

"  Also,"  Theodore  pursued,  "  I  shall  pay  my 
tailor.  I  owe  him  £18  IDS.  nd.  The  balance  will 
pay  for  a  small  celebration.  That  will  be  to- 
morrow, because  to-night  I  am  speaking  at  the 
Union." 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  pay  my  tailor,"  said  Guy. 
"  £25  would  not  be  enough.  Nor  shall  I  buy  Max 
Muller's  edition  of  Kant's  Critique  of  Pure  Reason. 
I  shall  be  able  to  borrow  yours.  On  the  other 
hand,  I  shall  celebrate  Aunt  Helen's  birthday. 
No  aunt  was  ever  so  celebrated." 

"  You  are  not  going  to  '  blue  '  £25  ?  "  Theodore 
protested. 

"  Stokes,"  said  Guy,  "  will  out-dare  Nokes  in 
azure  feats.  I  suggest  that  you  drop  the  Union. 
I  don't  think  Aunt  Helen  will  like  to  have  her 
birthday  celebrated  the  day  after." 

"  I  can't  drop  the  Union,"  said  Theodore 
decisively.  "  The  Junior  Conservative  Whip  will 
be  there.  I  must  make  an  impression." 


4  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

§   2 

It  was  eleven  o'clock  when  Theodore  returned 
that  night  to  Balliol.  His  speech  at  the  Union 
had  been  a  great  success,  and  he  had  added  some 
effective  impromptus.  The  Junior  Whip  had 
congratulated  him  upon  his  performance,  and  had 
enquired  into  his  plans  for  the  future. 

Public  speaking  was  for  Theodore  a  characteristic 
dissipation.  His  ideas  never  flowed  so  freely,  he 
never  so  nearly  attained  the  felicity  of  creation, 
as  when  he  was  communicating  his  thoughts  and 
sentiments  to  an  audience.  The  sense  that  his 
public  was  with  him  carried  him  further  than  he 
ever  dared  to  go  in  moments  that  were  private 
and  cool. 

He  entered  Balliol  still  warm  with  the  applause 
and  laughter  of  his  partisans,  and  enjoying  that 
complete  sense  of  well-being  which  comes  from 
exercising  congenial  powers  to  their  full  capacity 
and  perhaps  a  little  beyond. 

Theodore's  thoughts  in  success  turned  naturally 
to  Guy.  He  was  always  anxious  to  win  his 
brother's  approval.  Guy  had  little  respect  for  the 
successes  which  were  young  ambition's  ladder. 

Theodore,  on  the  other  hand,  was  proud  of  his 
ability  to  meet  the  world  as  a  practical  man,  to 
hold  his  own  upon  committees,  and  to  make  a 
good  impression  on  men  of  a  notable  influence. 
He  wanted  to  be  confirmed  in  his  pride. 

His  thoughts  were  deflected  as  he  picked  his  way 
under  the  trees  towards  his  turret  in  the  Garden 
Quadrangle  by  a  sudden  uproar  in  his  brother's 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  5 

room.  There  was  a  tinkling  of  broken  glass  and 
a  fierce  scuffling  as  he  walked  across  the  landing. 

On  opening  the  door  he  experienced  all  the 
melancholy  of  a  newcomer  into  an  orgy  for  which 
he  is  unprepared.  He  noted  with  the  pitiless 
accuracy  of  a  sober  man  that  Guy  and  his  friends 
were  in  various  and  characteristic  stages  of  in- 
toxication. There  had  apparently  been  an  inci- 
dent. Arthur  Powicke,  Guy's  principal  companion 
on  such  occasions,  was  forcibly  restraining  a  friend 
from  trying  to  hit  another  friend  with  the  poker. 
The  man  with  the  poker  was  pleading  hard  in  a 
numerous  grasp. 

"  Just  one  li'l  tap,  there's  a  good  fellow.  Just 
one  li'l  tap,"  he  begged. 

Guy's  voice  now  became  audible.  His  hair  was 
ruffled  ;  his  blue  eyes  were  bright ;  and  his  coun- 
tenance ensanguined. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,"  he  said  with  conviction, 
"  this  is  a  most  unfort'nate  occurrence.  This  is 
r-really-and-truly  an  affair  of  honour.  That's 
what  it  is,  r-really-and-truly." 

Theodore  stood  for  awhile  unnoticed  on  the  thresh- 
old of  his  brother's  room.  After  a  few  moments  he 
closed  the  door  and  slipped  away  into  his  own  room 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  landing.  He  had  returned 
to  Balliol  too  late  for  the  occasion.  He  disliked 
the  smell  of  alcohol ;  the  waste  products  of  a 
varied  dessert  scattered  upon  the  chairs,  the 
tables  and  the  floor  of  his  brother's  room  dis- 
pleased him  ;  the  sideboard  with  its  empty  bottles 
offended  his  sense  of  thrift.  He  shut  his  door  on 
the  noise  of  Guy's  party,  switched  on  the  light, 


6  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

and  opened  his  new  edition  of  Kant's  Critique  of 
Pure  Reason. 

The  noise  in  his  brother's  room  culminated  in  a 
typhoon  upon  the  landing.  A  horde  of  ruffians 
clattered  down  the  turret  stairs  and  affronted  the 
serenity  of  the  garden  quadrangle.  Theodore 
gathered  from  sounds  which  came  from  the  open 
window  that  the  affair  of  honour  was  being  settled 
by  means  of  a  mock  encounter  between  the  pro- 
tagonists under  the  maple  tree. 

When  these  proceedings  were  terminated,  Guy 
and  his  friends  continued  the  evening's  work 
elsewhere. 

Some  hours  later  a  hush  fell  upon  Balliol,  and 
Guy  walked  back  to  his  rooms  convinced  that  he 
had  spent  the  evening  well.  The  birds  were  already 
stirring,  and  the  sky  pallidly  apprehended  the  dawn. 

Guy  performed  a  florid  roulade  which  landed 
him  at  his  bedroom.  He  paused  a  moment  in  the 
corridor.  Something  told  him  that  Theodore  was 
still  awake.  He  walked  along  the  passage  and 
flung  open  his  brother's  door.  Theodore  looked  up 
quietly  from  his  armchair,  removed  a  tranquil  pipe 
from  his  mouth  and  closed  his  book. 

"  Well,  Guy,"  he  inquired,  "  is  it  finished?  " 

"  It  is  finished,"  said  Guy. 

"  And  you  found  it  really  amusing  ?  "  stated  his 
brother,  in  the  voice  of  one  suggesting  a  doubt. 

A  frown,  as  of  a  child  whose  best  ideas  have  been 
received  without  respect,  clouded  Guy's  face  for  a 
moment.  Then  he  brightened,  and  said  hopefully  : 

"  At  least  Aunt  Helen  will  be  pleased.  Thor- 
oughly adequate  celebration." 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  7 

He  turned  to  leave  the  room,  but  stopped  a 
moment  at  the  door : 

"  How  did  you  get  on  to-night  at  the  Union  ?  " 

"  It  was  a  great  success,"  said  Theodore. 

"  Good  news,"  said  Guy. 

He  hovered  a  moment  at  the  door  as  though  the 
occasion  called  for  further  comment.  He  wanted 
to  be  cordial.  Theodore  waited  eagerly  for  the 
appreciation  which  he  felt  was  due,  disguising  his 
need  for  warm  words  under  a  smiling  contemplation 
of  Guy's  embarrassment ;  but  Guy,  who  only  saw 
the  smile,  turned  abruptly  away  and  went  into  his 
bedroom. 


CHAPTER  II 

§  i 

GUY'S  bedroom  looked  out  of  Balliol  Tower  on 
to  a  broad  Oxford  thoroughfare  where  there 
was  a  cab  rank.  At  this  hour  of  the  morning  there 
was  only  one  cab.  It  was  a  hansom.  The  horse 
stood  droopingly,  his  head  in  an  empty  nosebag  and 
his  loins  covered  with  a  blanket.  The  cabman  was 
asleep  in  the  shelter. 

Guy  crossed  the  room,  looked  into  the  street  and 
stretched  himself.  He  had  no  disposition  to  go  to 
bed.  It  seemed  a  pity  to  collapse  in  slumber. 
His  brain  was  pleasantly  alert  and  clear. 

"  This,"  he  said,  in  a  sudden  burst  of  intuition, 
"  was  how  the  Romans  felt  when  they  carried  off 
the  Sabines.  Unfortunately,"  he  added  with  a 
slight  decline  of  spirits,  "  no  Sabines." 

"  No  Sabines,"  he  repeated  with  an  air  of 
finality. 

His  gaze  rested  a  moment  on  the  solitary  horse 
outside.  He  was  struck  with  the  dejected  aspect 
of  the  creature. 

"  Animal  seems  depressed,"  he  remarked.  The 
horse  lifted  a  forefoot  and  stamped.  His  harness 
jingled  and  subsided  into  silence. 

"  Wants  to  go  for  a  walk,"  said  Guy. 

The  horse  lifted  his  forefoot  and  stamped  again. 

"  He's  getting  emphatic,"  said  Guy. 

8 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  9 

At  this  point  his  face  gradually  illumined  with 
an  idea.  He  examined  the  window  carefully, 
removed  the  iron  bar,  concerning  which  confidences 
had  been  exchanged  between  several  successive 
tenants  of  these  particular  rooms,  and  meas- 
ured the  distance  to  the  ground  with  his  eye. 
Two  sheets  knotted  sufficed  for  the  purpose, 
and  in  a  few  moments  Guy  stood  on  the 
pavement. 

He  looked  into  the  cab  shelter  and  ascertained 
that  the  cabman  was  still  asleep.  Then,  after  the 
necessary  preparations  had  been  made,  he  sur- 
mounted the  cab  and  drove  off  into  the  town. 

§   2 

Several  hours  later,  in  a  lonely  country  road 
some  miles  from  Oxford,  a  girl  from  one  of  the 
outlying  farms  was  brought  to  a  standstill  by  the 
incongruous  spectacle  of  a  hansom  cab  reaching 
across  the  highway  at  an  angle  of  45  degrees.  The 
horse  was  tranquilly  cropping  the  wayside  grass  ; 
the  driver,  who  seemed  to  the  girl  marvellously 
above  his  occupation,  was  asleep  with  his  head 
comfortably  pillowed  on  the  roof  of  the  cab.  The 
whole  equipage  had  an  absurdly  derelict  appear- 
ance, more  especially  as  the  driver  was  without 
a  hat. 

The  girl  considered  the  matter  for  a  moment. 
She  did  not  like  to  leave  things  as  they  were. 
Cabs  should  not  sprawl  unhampered  across  the 
King's  highway.  She  decided  to  wake  the  driver. 
She  put  down  her  basket  and  diffidently  ap- 
proached the  side  of  the  cab.  The  gentleman  was 


10  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

very  soundly  asleep.  She  pushed  him  gently  in 
the  leg  and  told  him  to  wake  up.  As  he  gave  no 
sign  of  life,  she  raised  her  voice  and  pushed  him  a 
little  harder.  Still  he  did  not  move.  Then  she 
put  her  foot  on  the  step  of  the  cab  and  raised 
herself  to  the  level  of  the  roof.  She  could  now 
shake  the  gentleman  by  the  arm.  He  muttered 
and  turned  his  face  a  little  so  that  she  would  be 
looking  straight  into  his  eyes  if  they  had  been 
open. 

She  had  never  studied  a  face  so  closely  before. 
Her  first  impression  was  one  of  amusement.  What 
a  funny  thing  a  face  was,  with  all  its  dents  and 
creases  and  holes  and  corners  and  little  hairs.  She 
drew  away  a  little  in  order  to  see  this  face  as  a 
whole  which  was  so  funny  in  detail.  Henceforth 
the  gentleman,  so  far  as  she  was  conerned,  was 
the  handsome  gentleman.  She  liked  his  mouth, 
which  was  kind,  and  would  probably  smile  at  her 
when  he  woke.  She  liked  his  clear  warm  skin  and 
the  way  in  which  he  slept  with  his  mouth  shut. 
Her  father  slept  with  his  mouth  open,  and  the 
young  man  who  was  taking  her  for  walks  on 
Sunday  snored  when  he  rested  in  her  lap. 

She  was  beginning  to  wonder  what  his  eyes  were 
like,  when  he  started  muttering  quite  distinctly, 
but  without  opening  his  eyes  : 

"  Unfort'n'tely  no  Sabines." 

The  gentleman  was  talking  in  his  sleep.  Her 
embarrassment  increased.  He  might  say  some- 
thing which  she  ought  not  to  hear. 

She  shook  him  roughly  by  the  arm. 
'  Wake  up,  sir,"  she  called. 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  11 

§  3 

Guy  opened  his  eyes.  He  found  he  was  looking 
straight  into  the  face  of  a  girl.  She  had  on  a 
shapeless  straw  hat,  a  cotton  blouse  and  a  frayed 
skirt  of  blue  serge,  but  Guy  saw  only  her  face. 
She  was  a  dark  girl  with  hazel  eyes  and  brown- 
black  hair.  Her  complexion  was  pale,  but  radi- 
antly clear.  Her  mouth  was  full  and  nicely 
moulded  ;  but  it  opened  easily  and  had  been  partly 
re-shaped  by  a  constant  habit  of  biting  the  upper  lip. 

Guy  remained  still  for  a  moment.  By  all  the 
laws  of  life  this  should  be  a  vision. 

He  put  out  his  hand  and  touched  her.  She  did 
not  move,  and  Guy  removed  his  hand.  He  put 
his  elbows  on  the  roof  of  the  cab  and  contemplated 
her  for  a  moment.  Then  suddenly  his  face  broke 
into  a  vivid  smile.  (Had  she  not  divined  that  he 
would  smile  ?) 

"  Sabina,"  he  said,  and  his  eyes  lit. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir." 

There  was  something  in  his  amusement  which 
she  did  not  like. 

"  Sabina,"  he  repeated,  accusing  her  with  his 
forefinger. 

"  No,  sir,  that  isn't  my  name." 

"  Do  you  mind  if  I  call  you  Sabina  ?  " 

"  Why  should  you  ?  " 

"  It  means,"  Guy  explained,  "  that  this  cab  is  a 
chariot,  and  that  I  am  going  to  carry  you  off  to 
the  City  of  the  Seven  Hills." 

The  girl  began  to  think  that  the  gentleman  was 
mad.  She  moved  uneasily  on  the  step  of  the  cab. 
Her  position  was  not  very  secure.  She  lost  her 


12  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

balance,  and  before  Guy  could  recover  her,  slipped 
and  fell  to  the  ground. 

Guy  scrambled  quickly  down  from  his  seat. 

"  Are  you  hurt,"  he  enquired  anxiously.  "I'm 
most  tremendously  sorry." 

The  girl  was  not  hurt ;  but  she  had  sprawled 
rather  ungracefully  in  the  road,  which  was  still 
wet  with  dew. 

"  Leave  me  alone,"  she  snapped,  "I'm  quite 
all  right,  thank  you." 

Guy  exhibited  concern. 

"  Please  let  me  help,"  he  begged.  "  It  was  all  my 
fault.  I'm  afraid  I  was  trying  to  be  humorous." 

He  tried  to  help  her,  but  she  shook  him  away, 
and,  scrambling  angrily  to  her  feet,  walked  towards 
her  basket. 

Temper  had  made  havoc  of  her  prettiness. 

Guy  was  disposed  to  let  her  go  when  he  recovered 
his  first  impression  of  her  as  he  had  opened  his 
eyes  and  seen  the  sun  slanting  upon  her  over  the 
roof  of  the  cab  He  decided  that  he  could  not 
part  with  her  so  easily. 

"  Sabina,"  he  called. 

The  strange  name  hardened  her.  She  had 
nearly  reached  the  basket.  Guy  walked  rapidly 
across  to  her  and  stood  in  the  way. 

"  It  was  kind  of  you  to  wake  me,"  he  said,  "  and 
I'm  sorry  I  frightened  you." 

He  was  so  anxious  to  make  amends  that  the 
girl  now  wanted  to  surrender. 

"  I  thought  you  were  mad,"  she  hazarded  by 
way  of  conciliation. 

"  Let  me  dust  you,"  said  Guy. 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  13 

He  produced  a  handkerchief  too  fine  for  the 
purpose  and  diligently  dusted.  The  girl  looked 
down  at  him,  not  without  kindness.  She  had  never 
been  treated  so  gallantly.  She  was  inclined  to 
think  that  the  gentleman  ought  not  to  be  attending 
upon  her  in  this  way.  She  had  a  further 
opportunity  for  observing  her  new  acquaintance 
as  he  stooped.  She  admired  the  set  of  his  head. 
Guy  looked  up  suddenly  and  their  eyes  met. 
His  look  was  so  direct  that  he  seemed  almost  to 
know  what  was  in  in  her  mind,  and  she  flushed  a 
little. 

"  Mayn't  I  call  you  Sabina  ?  "  he  asked. 

He  asked  this  question  as  though  he  had  not 
asked  it  before,  and  as  though  the  request  was 
entirely  right  and  proper. 

"  Do  as  you  please  about  it,"  said  the  girl. 

Guy  finished  his  brushing,  and  there  was  a  short 
silence.  Guy  did  not  wish  to  appear  victorious, 
and  the  girl  did  not  want  to  say  anything 
to  emphasise  her  submission.  There  was  an 
absurd  sense  between  them  that  something  of 
importance  had  occurred.  It  was  Guy  who  spoke 
first. 

"  What  is  in  the  basket  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Butter  and  eggs.  We  keep  cows  now,  and  the 
butter  goes  to  Oxford  every  Thursday." 

"  I  will  drive  you  in,"  said  Guy.  "  That  is  the 
least  I  can  do." 

"  Oh,  sir,  but  I  couldn't." 

"  And  you  mustn't  call  me  sir." 

"  I  cannot  very  well  call  you  anything  else, 
can  I ?  " 


14  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

"  Guy  is  my  name,  if  you  would  really  like  to 
know." 

She  opened  her  eyes  at  him  in  a  way  which  in 
another  might  have  been  coquetry.  It  was  really 
bewilderment. 

"  How  can  I  call  you  by  your  Christian  name  ?" 
she  asked. 

"  It's  quite  easy,"  said  Guy.  "  Don't  they 
teach  you  these  things  at  school  ?  " 

Sabina's  rejoinder  was  indirect,  but  sufficient. 

"  You're  a  funny  one,"  she  remarked. 

"  I  am  glad  you  like  my  humour,"  said  Guy. 
"  Usually  the  only  person  it  amuses  is  myself." 

"  I  don't  think  I  do  like  it,  really  and  truly," 

said  Sabina.     "  At  least,  I  shouldn't  like  it  if ." 

She  stopped  in  some  confusion. 

"  Well,"  said  Guy. 

"  You  see,  a  person  would  not  know  whether 
you  really  meant  what  you  said.  A  person  likes 
to  know  whether  you  mean  what  you  say  to  her, 
doesn't  she  ?  I  mean  you  don't  want  to  be  made 
fun  of  when  you  don't  know  a  person  is  rmiking 
fun." 

Guy  was  struck  by  this. 

"  Sabina,  I  believe  that  explains  why  I  am  not 
half  so  popular  as  I  might  be.  Shall  I  promise 
you  something  ?  " 

'  You  are  still  making  fun,"  said  Sabina,  doubt- 
fully. 

"  Not  now,"  Guy  assured  her.  "  Really,  I'm 
not.  I  promise  not  to  do  it." 

Guy  held  out  his  hand.  Mechanically  she  put 
out  hers,  and  he  held  it  a  moment ;  time  enough 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  15 

to  feel  that,  though  it  was  rough  with  labour,  the 
fingers  lay  softly  upon  his  palm. 

She  withdrew  awkwardly,  and  Guy  breezily 
covered  their  confusion. 

"  About  this  basket,"  he  said.  "  You  must  let 
me  drive  you  into  Oxford.  We  have  been  talking 
here  for  years,  and  you'll  be  late  for  market.  I 
shall  have  to  carry  you  off  in  the  chariot  after  all." 

"  You  promised  not  to  make  fun,"  said  Sabina. 

"  I  am  not  making  fun,  Sabina." 

"  Then  why  do  you  talk  about  carrying  me  off, 
and  why  do  you  call  me  Sabina  ?  " 

"  Sabina  is  not  a  joke,"  said  Guy. 

He  reflected  a  moment  and  had  slight  misgivings. 

"  At  least,"  he  added,  "  it  is  not  altogether  a 
joke." 

He  began  to  explain.  He  realised,  as  soon  as 
he  had  begun,  that  it  would  not  be  easy.  He  sat 
down  on  the  bank  beside  the  road,  and  invited 
Sabina  to  sit  beside  him.  She  sat  a  little  distantly, 
and  fidgeted  with  the  grasses. 

'  There  were  some  people  called  Romans,"  Guy 
ventured. 

"  I  know,  like  Julius  Caesar." 
'  Yes,"  said  Guy,  "  like  Julius  Caesar." 

"  One  day  they  realised  that  there  were  not 
enough  wives  to  go  round." 

Sabina  now  looked  at  him  with  interest. 

"  And  so,"  Guy  continued  (he  was  now  somewhat 
alarmed  by  the  approaching  climax),  "  one  day 
they  started  in  chariots." 

"  I  once  saw  a  picture  of  a  chariot,"  interrupted 
Sabina.  "  It  was  not  a  bit  like  a  hansom  cab." 


16  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

"  Not  altogether,"  Guy  admitted.  "  Well  the 
Romans  started  in  chariots,  and  carried  off  the 
women  of  the  next  parish." 

"  Was  one  of  them  called  Sabina,"  she  asked. 

"  They  were  all  of  them  called  Sabina." 

The  girl  was  plucking  at  the  grass  on  the  bank. 
She  coloured  slightly. 

"  I  see,"  she  said  at  last. 

There  was  a  slight  pause. 

She  looked  at  him  nervously,  and  then  away 
again.  "  Did  the  women  in  your  story  want  to  be 
carried  off  ?  "  she  asked. 

Guy  hesitated,  and  turned  upon  her  with  a 
sudden  smile. 

"  You  promised  to  tell  me  the  truth,"  she 
reminded  him. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Guy,  "  I  am  afraid  that,  at 
the  time,  they  had  objections.  In  fact,"  he 
admitted,  in  a  burst  of  confidence,  "  they  were 
taken  by  force.  But  they  afterwards  settled  down 
quite  comfortably  with  their  husbands,  and  they 
all  had  families  which  conquered  the  whole  world. 
Your  friend  Julius  Caesar,  for  instance." 

Sabina  rose  from  the  bank  with  some  dignity. 

"  I  think  your  story  is  perfectly  horrid,"   she 
said,  "  and  I  shall  walk  to  Oxford." 
'  You  will  be  very  late,"  said  Guy. 

Sabina,  half  way  to  the  basket,  stopped.  "  What 
time  is  it  now,?"  she  asked." 

"  It  is  nearly  7  o'clock." 

He  was  surprised  to  see  a  look  of  considerable 
larm  come  over  her  face.  She  seemed  undecideda 
what  to  do. 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  17 

"  My  father  will  be  angry,"   she   said   at  last. 

"  Are  you  afraid  of  your  father  ?  "  Guy  asked. 

Sabina  again  found  in  his  voice  the  concern 
which  had  before  prevailed  with  her. 

"  Father  is  awfully  strict,"  she  said. 

"  You  must  let  me  drive  you,"  said  Guy, 
peremptorily. 

"  How  far  is  it  ?"  he  asked. 

"  About  six  miles." 

"  Then  I  can  get  you  there  by  8  o'clock." 

Sabina  gave  way.  She  allowed  Guy  to  help  her 
into  the  cab.  He  handed  her  the  basket  and  shut 
the  doors.  She  leaned  over  the  edge  of  the  sill. 

'  You  mustn't  drive  me  right  into  Oxford,"  she 
protested.  "  Someone  might  see  us.  You  will 
please  put  me  down  by  the  railway  bridge.  I'll 
walk  the  rest." 

Guy  climbed  into  his  seat ;  whipped  up  the 
horse  ;  and,  in  a  few  minutes,  they  were  trotting 
pleasantly  along.  The  sun  was  beginning  to  warm 
the  air.  The  dew  sparkled  in  the  road.  The 
horse's  hoofs  rang  crisply  on  the  ground,  and  the 
harness  jingled  merrily.  Guy  felt  an  extraordinary 
exhilaration  in  thinking  of  the  girl  who  had  thus 
strangely  become  his  fare.  He  opened  the  trap  in 
the  roof  and  looked  down  on  her.  She  was  lying 
back,  happily  enjoying  her  drive.  She  was  keeping 
close  watch  upon  the  road  to  see  whether  there  was 
anybody  who  might  observe  her,  but  apprehension 
gave  rather  a  zest  to  her  pleasure.  After  a  while 
she  seemed  to  feel  that  Guy  was  looking  at  her. 
She  glanced  up  and  saw  his  face  smiling  at  her 
through  the  trap. 


18  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

"  Well,  Sabina,"  he  said,  "  how  do  you  like  it  ?  " 

"  I  love  riding,"  she  answered. 

He  shut  the  trap,  but  in  a  moment  or  so  opened 
it  again. 

"  I  say,"  he  called,  "  this  old  hansom  cab  is 
rather  like  a  chariot  after  all,  what  ?  " 

He  shut  the  trap  with  a  snap  before  she  could 
reply,  but  he  had  time  to  see  that  he  had  not 
vexed  her. 

§  4 

At  the  railway  bridge,  about  a  mile  out  of 
Oxford,  Guy  helped  Sabina  out  of  the  cab  and 
set  her  on  the  road. 

She  said  good-bye,  and  waited  for  him  to  climb 
to  his  seat  again  ;  but  Guy  lingered. 

"  I  don't  know  where  you  live,"  he  said  at  last. 

"  I  live  at  Manygates  Farm,  not  far  from  where 
you  met  me.  But  you  mustn't  come  to  look  for 
me." 

Guy  smiled  in  a  way  that  committed  him  to 
nothing. 

"  Please,  you  mustn't  come,"  she  repeated. 

She  seemed  terrified  at  the  idea  of  his  coming, 
and  Guy  wondered  whether  she  had  her  father  in 
mind. 

"  I  won't  come,"  he  said,  "  if  you'll  meet  me 
where  you  found  me  to-day.  I'll  be  there  on 
Thursday  evening  next  at  half-past  eight." 

"  Oh,  but  I  mustn't,"  she  said.  But  she  said 
it  without  conviction. 

"  I  shall  be  there,  in  any  case,"  said  Guy. 

He  wanted  to  touch  her  in  some  way  as  he  said 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  19 

good-bye,  but  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  do  so. 
He  climbed  into  the  cab  and  took  the  reins.  As  he 
was  starting  off  she  smiled  up  at  him  unexpectedly. 

"  Those  women  were  carried  off  by  force,  weren't 
they,"  she  said.  "  That  wasn't  quite  like  you  and 
me,  was  it  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit  like  you  and  me,"  responded  Guy  ; 
"  but  I  shall  call  you  Sabina,  all  the  same." 

He  whipped  up  the  horse  and  drove  towards 
Oxford. 

Once  or  twice  he  looked  back  and  saw  Sabina 
trudging  after  the  cab  with  her  basket.     She  was 
very  slight,  fragile  and  appealing.     The  last  time 
he  looked  he  raised  the  whip  and  waved  to  her 
She  waved  her  hand  back  at  him  in  answer. 


CHAPTER  III 


IT  took  Guy  some  time  to  persuade  the  cabman 
that  he  had  not  been  grievously  wronged.  Guy 
explained  that  he  had  wanted  the  cab  to  visit  a 
sick  relative  in  the  night,  and  that  it  had  seemed 
a  shame  to  wake  the  cabman  when  he  was  obviously 
enjoying  his  rest.  The  cabman  enquired  what 
price  his  feelings  when  he  woke  and  found  the  cab 
was  gone.  The  cabman's  vocabulary  was  limited, 
but  he  had  no  objection  to  repeating  certain  words 
continually.  Guy  reflected  that  thus  Aaron  might 
have  spoken  when  he  desired  to  turn  the  waters 
into  blood.  Fortunately,  Guy  was  at  last  able  to 
discover  a  neglected  sovereign  in  one  of  his  pockets. 

The  cabman  accepted  the  sovereign  as  though 
in  absence  of  mind,  and  was  gradually  brought  to 
believe  that  Guy  had  acted  for  the  best.  He  even 
began  to  see  humour  in  the  affair  when,  looking 
into  the  cab  to  assure  himself  that  the  fittings  were 
intact,  he  found  a  comb  such  as  ladies  use  for 
fastening  their  back  hair.  Then  he  smiled.  It 
was  the  touch  of  nature. 

He  handed  the  comb  to  Guy  quite  pleasantly. 

"  I'd  make  it  two  sovereigns  if  I  could."  said 
Guy.  "  Unfortunately  I'm  broke." 

The  cabman  put  a  finger  to  his  lip. 
'  You  may  rely  on  me,  sir,"  he  said. 

"  No  harm  in  it,"  Guy  assured  him. 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  21 

"  I  ain't  the  man  to  see  harm  in  it,"  said  the 
cabman.  "  You  can  rely  on  me,  sir.  Any  time 
and  every  time.  All  I  ask  is  that,  next  time  your 
relative  is  took  sick,  you  will  kindly  leave  a  note 
to  that  effect  in  the  shelter.  Otherwise  I  keep 
wonderin'." 

Guy's  absence  from  Balliol  had  not  been  noted 
by  the  authorities.  Powicke  had  seen  the  knotted 
sheets  depending  from  Guy's  window  as  he  leaned 
out  of  the  room  above,  cooling  his  fevers  in  the 
morning  air.  He  had  retrieved  the  evidence,  thus 
saving  his  friend  from  inconvenient  enquiries.  The 
college  porter  remarked  as  Guy  passed  into  college 
that  he  had  not  seen  him  pass  out  that  morning. 
Guy  condoled  with  him  on  the  gradual  decay  of 
his  faculties. 

§   2 

As  the  week  advanced  Guy  found  himself 
thinking  a  good  deal  of  Sabina  and  of  her  apparition 
in  the  sunlight.  He  did  not,  however,  realise  how 
greatly  he  was  looking  forward  to  seeing  her  again 
until  two  days  later  a  letter  arrived  from  Marian. 

Marian  was  his  distant  cousin  and  an  adopted 
niece  of  Aunt  Helen.  Her  letter  to  Guy  was  as 
follows  : — 

Fern  Cottage, 

Hampstead, 
Dear  Guy, 

The  Duke  has  surprised  us  all.  He  proposes  to  come 
to  Oxford,  presumably  to  see  his  two  sons.  He  will  be 
at  our  disposal  on  Thursday  next.  The  Duke  is  going 


22  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

to  disburse.  So  please  see  that  Theodore  engages  some 
co  stly  rooms.  What  is  the  name  of  that  jolly  old  hotel 
where  we  had  lunch  last  summer  ?  (It  had  something 
to  do  with  a  bishop,  but  it  was  not  the  crozier.) 

I'm  most  excited  at  the  prospect  of  seeing  you  so 
soon.  It  seems  an  age  since  you  went  up  on  Friday, 
three  weeks  ago. 

Yours, 

"  A  little  more  than  kin,  and  less  than  kind," 

MART  AN. 

P.S. — What  on  earth  does  Hamlet  mean  by  that  ? 

Guy  was  at  first  delighted  that  Marian  was  coming 
to  Oxford.  Then  he  remembered  that  on  Thursday 
evening  he  was  to  meet  Sabina.  He  began  to 
wonder  which  was  the  more  pressing  engagement. 

He  began  to  be  angry  with  himself,  because  he 
feared  in  advance  that  he  was  going  to  neglect 
Marian.  He  was  angry  also  with  Marian  for 
writing  so  nicely  about  their  meeting  (she  even 
quoted  Hamlet  to  please  him,  knowing  that  he 
always  rose  to  Shakespeare  like  a  fish  to  a  fly).  He 
was  most  of  all  angry  with  the  Duke  for  choosing 
Thursday. 

Guy  and  Theodore  had  agreed  with  Marian  that 
their  father  should  be  called  the  Duke,  one  evening 
when  they  had  been  reading  Browning's  Last 
Duchess.  The  Duke  was  a  mystery  to  the  children 
of  his  first  marriage,  not  because  he  was  at  all 
subtle  or  difficult  to  understand,  but  because  they 
could  not  even  now  believe  that  he  was  as  selfish 
as  he  seemed,  or  that  he  really  disliked  them.  And 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  23 

yet  his  dislike  was  natural  enough.  His  sons  had 
for  some  years  been  a  source  of  expense  to  him  and 
a  domestic  embarrassment.  Moreover,  they  re- 
minded him  of  his  first  wife,  who  had  died  when 
she  had  found  him  out. 

Guy  and  Theodore  had  provided  for  themselves. 

It  was  not  owing  to  the  Duke,  and  it  was  in  spite 
of  his  second  Duchess,  that  they  were  now  at 
Balliol.  It  was  due  partly  to  Aunt  Helen,  who 
was  their  mother's  sister  and  had  provided  some 
of  the  means,  and  to  their  habit  of  acquiring 
scholarships  and  exhibitions.  Theodore  worked 
for  them  and  Guy  picked  them  up. 

§3 

Guy  was  pacing  his  room  in  considerable  disturb- 
ance of  mind  when  Theodore  came  to  him,  waving 
a  letter  in  the  air,  with  an  excitement  more  usual 
in  his  brother  than  in  himself.  He  too  had  received 
news  from  Marian. 

"  Guy,"  he  exclaimed,  "  they  are  coming  to 
Oxford  on  Thursday — Aunt  Helen,  the  Duke  and 
Marian." 

"  I  know,"  said  Guy,  without  elation.  He 
thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets  and  looked 
moodily  out  of  the  window. 

Theodore  was  too  excited  to  notice  his  brother's 
manner. 

"  We  must  get  ready,  Guy,"  he  said.  "  I 
suppose  it  will  have  to  be  the  Mitre.  Marian  likes 
the  Mitre." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Guy,  "  whether  we  could  put 
them  off." 


24  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

Theodore  stared  at  his  brother  in  astonishment. 

"  Thursday  is  Union  night,"  said  Guy  evasively. 

"  I  would  drop  the  Union  for  Marian  any  night 
in  the  year,"  said  Theodore. 

Guy  looked  at  his  brother. 

"  You  must  be  unusually  fond  of  Marian,"  he 
said,  after  a  pause. 

Theodore  coloured  slightly. 

"  Aren't  we  all  unusually  fond  of  Marian  ?  "  he 
responded. 

Theodore  engaged  rooms  at  the  Mitre  and  even 
rose  to  special  instructions  for  the  dinner.  He 
returned  to  Balliol  suffering  from  the  uneasy  ex- 
citement of  a  careful  man  who  for  once  in  a  way 
has  been  lavish.  To  justify  himself  he  took 
Marian's  letter  from  his  pocket  and  read  it  again. 
It  was  not  at  all  the  kind  of  letter  Guy  had  re- 
received.  They  would  arrive  by  the  10.30  from 
Paddington,  and  she  hoped  the  weather  would  be 
nice.  It  was  the  sort  of  letter  a  girl  writes  when 
she  desires  to  be  kind  to  someone  without  feeling 
greatly  excited  about  it. 

§  4 

Theodore  was  emphatic  in  praise  of  a  flawless 
occasion  as  he  paced  the  platform  of  Oxford  station 
with  his  brother,  waiting  for  the  down  express. 

Nor  could  Guy  for  long  concern  himself  with  his 
dilemma.  His  spirits  rose  like  a  bubble  in  the  sun. 
After  all,  both  Sabina  and  Marian  were  a  part  of 
this  agreeable  world  of  warm  air  and  blue  sky. 
Why  should  he  greatly  worry  concerning  a  choice 
between  two  pleasures  ? 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  25 

Theodore  joyously  indicated  the  approaching 
train,  and,  when  the  passengers  had  sorted  them- 
selves out,  Aunt  Helen  was  descried  bearing  down 
upon  them  with  Marian  and  the  Duke  in  attendance. 

"  Theodore,"  said  Aunt  Helen,  as  she  came 
within  reach  of  him,  "  aren't  you  going  to  kiss 
your  Aunt  ?  " 

"  It  isn't  done,"  said  Theodore,  gaily,  "  not  on 
this  platform." 

But  by  this  time  Guy  had  already  saluted  her. 

Marian  came  into  the  circle.  She  was  tall,  with 
light  brown  hair,  a  warm  complexion  and  steady 
grey  eyes. 

Guy  received  her  as  a  man  receives  his  best 
friend.  Theodore  was  less  familiar,  but  you  did 
not  gather  that  he  was  less  intimately  concerned. 

They  drove  in  cabs  from  the  station  to  the  Mitre. 
Guy  and  Marian  somehow  got  into  the  same 
hansom  and  the  rest  followed  in  a  four-wheeler. 

In  the  hansom  Marian  turned  to  Guy,  her  eyes 
shining  with  pleasure. 

"  Well,"  she  asked,  "  what  are  you  going  to  do 
with  us  ?  " 

"  River,"  said  Guy,  who  never  wasted  words 
with  Marian. 

"  Of  course,"  Marian  responded,  "  but  please 
fill  in  the  picture." 

"  Luncheon-baskets  from  Buol's,"  said  Guy. 
"  Don't  look  out  of  the  cab,  or  you  might  see 
Oxford.  From  the  Mitre  we  proceed  to  the  river. 
You  will  admire  the  Broad- walk  and  identify  the 
barges.  Up  the  Char  to  Mesopotamia  and  beyond. 
Cosy  corner.  '  Places  of  nestling  green  for  poets 


26  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

made.'  Champagne,  lobster,  mayonnaise,  rook- 
pie  and  salad.  Cold  cherry  tart  and  cream. 
Duke  greatly  impressed,  and  wondering  what  it  is 
going  to  cost ;  also  whether  we  do  this  sort  of 
thing  every  day." 

"The  Duke  is  going  to  pay  for  everything,"  said 
Marian,  with  a  twinkle. 

"  He  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Guy. 
He  added,  with  a  broad  smile,  "  We're  going  to 
pay  for  the  Duke  in  consideration  of  all  he's  done 
for  us." 

Guy  spoke  of  his  father  without  bitterness.  His 
father  was  odd,  penurious  and  hard,  but  Guy  was 
quite  disposed  to  be  dutiful.  He  supposed  vaguely 
that  he  did  not  very  well  suit  his  father,  but,  after 
all,  why  shouldn't  the  Duke  save  his  money  or 
spend  it  on  the  wife  of  his  indian  summer? 

"  High  Street,"  said  Guy  as  the  cab  swung  round 
at  Carfax.  "  Possibly  the  best  street  in  all  the 
world,"  he  added  complacently. 

§  5 

Marian,  on  the  river,  was  conscious  of  nothing 
except  that  the  boys  were  good  to  her,  and  that 
Guy  was  there.  She  ate  and  drank  indifferently 
of  what  was  offered,  spilling  over  with  laughter 
and  with  the  fugitive,  allusive  fun  which  runs  in 
families  and  is  mysterious  to  outsiders.  It  seemed 
as  though  they  had  been  on  the  water  for  not 
quite  an  hour  when  Guy  announced  that  it  was 
almost  time  for  tea. 

They  left  the  punt  and  walked  across  Mesopo- 
tamia towards  Balliol.  Keble  was  indicated  and 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  27 

the  Duke  was  observed  to  prick  up  a  rationalistic 
ear.  He  associated  Keble  with  incense  and 
certain  cardinals. 

"  So  that's  Keble  ?  "  he  said.  "  It  looks  much 
less  mediaeval  than  I  expected." 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  Keble,"  said  Guy. 
"  I  believe  it  has  been  a  good  deal  restored." 

"  Ought  to  have  been  pulled  down  at  the 
Reformation,"  said  the  Duke  with  conviction. 

It  was  not  till  they  were  having  tea  that  Guy 
again  began  to  feel  uneasy  about  his  appointment 
with  Sabina.  The  moment  was  approaching  when 
he  must  either  stay  beside  Marian  in  the  theatre 
or  desert  her  on  a  motor-bicyle  for  Manygates 
Farm.  Why  hadn't  he  written  to  Sabina  and 
fixed  another  day  ?  Why  did  he  always  drift  into 
painful  problems  ? 

"  Everything  is  perfect  to-day,"  said  Marian 
suddenly.  "  I  hope  nothing  will  happen  to  spoil 
it  all."  " 

"  Why  should  anything  happen  ?  "  asked 
Theodore. 

"  I  am  always  afraid  of  something  happening 
when  I  am  enjoying  myself,"  said  Marian. 

"  That's  what  comes  of  a  classical  education," 
grumbled  Guy.  "  Call  no  man  happy  till  he's 
dead,  and  then  he  doesn't  know  he's  well  off. 
Greek  cheerfulness  has  been  overrated." 

Inwardly  he  was  saying  :  "  I  must  certainly  stay 
with  Marian." 

Aunt  Helen  and  Marian  were  taken  to  the  Mitre 
after  tea.  They  were  to  dine  at  7  o'clock  and 
afterwards  to  go  on  to  the  theatre. 


28  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

§6 

Guy  was  still  dressing  when  Theodore  came  into 
his  room.  Under  his  quiet  manner  there  was  an 
unusual  intensity. 

"  Well,  Guy,"  he  said,  lighting  a  cigarette  and 
watching  Guy's  efforts  with  a  black  tie,  "  I  think 
she's  enjoying  herself  immensely." 

"  You  seem  to  be  taking  this  small  expedition 
very  seriously,"  said  Guy.  "  You're  like  a  Master 
of  the  Revels  arranging  a  suitable  presentation. 
Confound  this  beastly  tie  !  "  he  concluded  suddenly. 

"  The  colour's  wrong,"  said  Theodore,  who  was 
in  full  dress  with  a  champagne-coloured  waistcoat. 
He  took  up  the  whitest  of  a  bundle  of  white  ties 
from  the  table  and  tied  it  round  his  brother's  neck. 

"  Why  this  sudden  passion  for  dressing-up  ?  " 
Guy  asked.  "  We  shall  look  like  the  Royal  Box." 

As  he  spoke  he  suddenly  saw  himself,  presumably 
on  his  motor-bicycle,  in  tails  and  a  white  tie. 

"  But  not  a  white  waistcoat,"  he  suddenly 
reflected,  "  because,  as  usual,  they're  all  deficient." 

"  And  now,"  said  Theodore,  surveying  his  work 
with  interest,  "  we  must  fit  you  up  with  a  vest." 

He  inspected  Guy's  wardrobe  and  produced 
three  or  four  white  waistcoats.  They  had  none  of 
them  been  worn  ;  they  had  simply  mouldered. 

"  I've  got  you  there,"  Guy  grinned. 

"  Not  so  fast,"  said  Theodore,  with  a  grin  almost 
as  broad  as  his  brother's  (to-day  he  was  almost  a 
boy).  "  I  also  have  a  wardrobe." 

"  Which  is  doubtless  immaculate,"  said  Guy. 

Theodore  clad  his  brother  in  light  mauve,  and 
put  coral  studs  into  his  shirt-front. 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  29 

"  And  now  for  the  fancy-dress  ball,"  said  Guy, 
with  a  bitter  feeling  that  he  had  somehow  been 
prepared  for  sacrifice. 

"  Come  along,"  said  Theodore  briefly.  "  Marian 
will  be  down  before  we  arrive  if  you're  not  careful." 

They  passed  a  friend  in  the  porch. 

"  I  don't  know  how  you  feel  about  it,"  said  Guy, 
as  they  walked  arm-in-arm  down  Turl  Street ; 
"  but  when  that  fellow  looked  at  me  just  now  I 
felt  as  if  I  were  naked." 

"  But  not  ashamed,"  said  Theodore  gaily.  Guy 
looked  at  his  brother,  surprised  into  a  sudden 
affection,  and  squeezed  his  arm. 

"  What's  happened  to  you?  "  he  said.  "  You're 
behaving  as  though  it  were  April." 

§  7 

Guy  was  surprised  on  seeing  Marian.  Since  she 
had  been  to  Newnham  the  brothers  had  not  seen 
very  much  of  her  They  had  walked  together  and 
played  family  hockey  together.  They  had  spent 
a  wild  holiday  in  Scotland  together,  with  Aunt 
Helen  in  the  background.  But  they  had  not  seen 
her  on  any  social  occasion  since  her  hair  had  gone 
up  and  her  dresses  had  come  down.  To-night  she 
was  in  pale-blue  silk,  a  present  from  Aunt  Helen. 

Aunt  Helen  had  dressed  her  for  Guy.  But 
Theodore  was  the  victim.  Theodore  stood  like 
a  man  who  had  seen  the  heavens  open 

Guy  said : 

"  What's  the  matter  with  Marian  ?  " 

'  We  haven't  seen  her  really  grown-up  before," 
said  Theodore. 


30  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

"  Throws  quite  a  new  light  on  the  subject," 
said  Guy,  admiring  her  as  a  critic  might  admire 
an  Old  Master. 

"  Inclines  to  Rubens  rather  than  Burne  Jones," 
he  continued.  "  Marian,  as  the  poet  Ibsen  would 
say,  you're  filling  out." 

Theodore  looked  rather  like  a  snail  whose  horns 
have  been  touched,  and  a  shadow  fell  upon  Marian. 

"  Guy,"  said  Aunt  Helen,  rather  like  a  great 
lady,  "  it's  time  you  gave  up  talking  to  Marian  like 
a  schoolboy." 

During  dinner  Guy  was  alternately  boisterous 
and  pre-occupied.  He  had  opportunities  to  tell 
Marian  that  he  had  an  appointment,  but  it  had 
somehow  become  very  difficult  to  do  so. 

Too  soon,  as  it  seemed,  they  were  at  the  theatre, 
watching  the  first  act  of  an  entertaining  comedy. 
Though  his  intention  wavered  under  arguments 
alternately  suggested  by  conscience  and  inclination, 
there  was  something  curiously  inevitable  in  the 
way  his  intention  to  find  Sabina  survived. 

He  looked  at  his  watch  as  the  curtain  fell  on 
the  first  act.  It  was  already  half-past  eight. 
vSabina  might  even  now  be  waiting.  It  became 
impossible  for  him  to  sit.  He  muttered  some- 
thing about  a  cigarette,  and  went  out  into  the 
street. 

The  town  band  was  playing  at  the  corner. 
Young  men  and  girls  were  standing  about  or 
promenading  in  all  stages  of  familiarity.  He  was 
vividly  aware  of  the  passing  of  the  time,  and  had 
a  sudden  dismay  as  he  realised  that  he  would,  in 
any  case,  be  late. 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  31 

But  it  would  be  mean  to  leave  the  theatre  without 
a  word  to  Marian.  He  must  return  simply  to  say 
at  once  that  he  was  going. 

Marian  turned  brightly  to  him  as  he  entered. 

"  Marian,"  he  said,  "  this  is  a  dismal  show." 

Marian  looked  at  him  in  astonishment. 

"  It  isn't  Shakespeare,  of  course,  but  it's  good 
enough,"  she  protested. 

Her  tone  implied  that  anything  to-night  was 
good  enough.  Guy  looked  away. 

"  I've  got  an  appointment,"  he  said. 

Marian's  eyes  wandered  over  him  in  surprise. 

"  Isn't  this  rather  sudden  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  Guy,  "  I'm  rather  tied  up. 
I'm  asking  you  to  let  me  off  for  an  hour  or  so,  that 
is  all.  I  had  half  a  mind  to  cut  it  out — my  appoint- 
ment, I  mean "  He  broke  lamely  off,  and 

there  was  a  painful  silence. 

Marian's  pleasure  was  destroyed,  but  she  showed 
no  sign. 

"  You'd  better  go,"  she  said. 

Theodore  perceived  that  something  was  wrong. 

"  What's  all  this  about  ?  "  he  said,  leaning 
towards  them. 

"  Nothing,"  said  Marian.  "  Guy's  taken  a 
sudden  dislike  to  the  play.  He's  leaving  us  for 
an  hour." 

"  I've  seen  worse,"  said  Theodore,  cheerfully. 
"  What  does  the  fellow  mean  ?  " 

He  challenged  his  brother  with  a  false  cheerful- 
ness. 

Theodore's  antagonism  only  made  it  easier  for 


32  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

Guy  to  go.  It  enabled  him  to  think  that  he  was 
quarrelling  with  his  brother. 

"  See  you  at  supper,  Theo,"  he  said. 

"  You're  really  going?  " 

"  It  seems  Guy  has  a  previous  engagement,"  put 
in  Marian. 

Guy's  last  look  was  at  Theodore. 

§  8 

He  ran  for  his  bicycle  and  in  a  few  moments  was 
racing  along  the  road  towards  Abingdon.  The 
clock  in  Tom  Tower  struck  a  quarter  to  nine  as 
he  passed. 

The  striking  of  the  clock  and  his  rapid  motion 
towards  Sabina  quickly  obliterated  the  scene  in 
the  theatre.  He  was  soon  wondering  whether  he 
should  be  in  time,  and  shortly  the  whole  of  his 
mind  was  set  upon  that  question.  He  pictured 
Sabina  coming  to  the  bend  of  the  road,  waiting  a 
few  moments,  and  then  turning  to  go  away,  with 
that  settled  look  of  offence  which  had  set  him  so 
sharply  towards  her  at  their  first  meeting.  Why 
hadn't  he  started  before  ?  What  had  possessed 
him  to  make  so  much  of  leaving  the  theatre  party  ? 
Marian  had  had  dozens  of  theatre  parties  before, 
or,  at  any  rate,  she  should  have  dozens  of  theatre- 
parties  henceforth.  He  decided  he  would  take  her 
out  to  something  really  good  in  the  summer 
vacation.  They  would  dine  somewhere  amusing, 
and  they  would  have  supper  afterwards,  too,  and 
a  hansom-cab  all  the  way  to  Hampstead. 

A  hansom-cab  !  He  had  met  Sabina  in  a  han- 
som-cab. How  pretty  she  had  looked,  with  her 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  33 

head  back  among  the  faded  upholstery  of  the 
interior. 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,  could  I  ?  "  he  asked  himself, 
as  he  joyously  realised  that  his  bicycle  would  take 
the  intervening  hill  at  top  speed.  "  I  had  to  see 
her  again." 

"  Marian  should  have  come  on  some  other  day," 
he  added,  a  moment  later. 

At  this  point  he  swung  round  a  bend  of  the  road 
which  seemed  familiar  to  him.  Sabina  was  sitting 
on  the  bank,  apparently  looking  in  his  direction. 


CHAPTER  IT 

§  i 

SABINA  had  wavered  a  good  deal  on  the  subject 
of  keeping  her  appointment.  Often  she  could 
hardly  believe  that  her  adventure  with  the  hansom 
cab  had  really  happened.  It  seemed,  on  looking 
back,  in  no  case  to  be  taken  seriously.  Most  likely 
the  gentleman  had  already  forgotten  her.  Yet  he 
had  seemed  really  anxious  to  please  her  and  to 
win  her  confidence.  She  liked  to  recall  how  he 
had  dusted  her  with  his  handkerchief. 

He  had  also  told  her  that  story  about  the  women 
who  had  been  carried  off — a  story  which  excited  her 
pleasantly.  And  he  had  carried  her  off  himself. 

He  must  be  rather  a  wild  young  man.  She  had 
heard  stories  of  the  wild  young  men  who  lived  in 
the  colleges.  Her  father  had  warned  her  that  of 
all  young  men  they  were  the  least  to  be  trusted. 

Sabina  was  irretrievably  afraid  of  her  father. 
His  views  of  life  were  determined  by  a  Methodist 
upbringing  and  the  elopement  of  his  wife  with  a 
friendly  neighbour  some  years  ago.  Sabina  had 
to'account  to  him  for  all  her  time.  He  read  terrible 
passages  from  the  Old  Testament  every  evening  to 
her  and  to  her  younger  sister. 
^  But,  though  she  feared  her  father,  and  partly 
because  she  feared  him,  Sabina's  mind  naturally 
turned  to  the  things  he  so  insistently  forbade. 

34 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  35 

The  boys  who  addressed  her  as  she  went  about 
her  business  on  the  farm  had  for  her  a  special 
interest  as  being  accursed  in  her  father's  book. 
She  was  filled  with  urgent  curiosities  about  life 
before  she  had  really  passed  out  of  childhood. 
She  was  now  in  her  nineteenth  year.  She  had 
walked  hand  in  hand  with  youths  on  the  neighbour- 
ing farms  in  a  condition  of  excitement,  but  her 
excitement  was  mainly  fear  that  she  might  be 
caught  by  her  father.  The  youths  counted  for 
little  in  her  emotions,  and  she  evaded  their 
familiarity.  Their  clumsy  love-making  annoyed 
her.  And  now  there  came  a  wild  young  gentleman 
into  her  life  (almost  certainly  from  one  of  the 
colleges)  who  had  the  ways  of  another  world — a 
wild  young  gentleman  who  had  apologised  to  her, 
dusted  her  with  his  pocket  handkerchief,  driven 
her  to  market  and  yet  entirely  abstained  from  the 
familiarities  to  which  she  was  accustomed.  He 
had  merely  talked  to  her  in  an  oddly  exciting  way. 

Hitherto  the  life  of  Sabina,  apart  from  her 
laborious  days  on  a  small  poor  farm,  had  been  one 
long  effort  to  escape. 

She  had  been  accustomed  to  escape  to  her  room, 
where,  with  the  door  locked,  she  would  put  on 
finery  secretly  purchased  in  the  town.  One  day 
her  father  surprised  her,  and,  when  he  saw  what 
she  was  about,  scattered  the  contents  of  her  box 
on  the  floor  and  burnt  them. 

For  a  time  she  had  sought  an  escape  in  com- 
panionship with  her  younger  sister,  and  for  a  while 
they  were  inseparable.  But  Sabina's  sister  was 
her  father's  child,  meek  and  cool  and  demure,  and 


36  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

easily  frightened  by  any  suspicion  of  revolt  against 
the  strict  discipline  of  their  existence.  Her  elder 
sister's  speculations  about  life,  her  fugitive  in- 
dulgence in  meaningless  gallantries,  and  her  bold 
mockeries  of  their  father's  faith,  alarmed  and 
distressed  the  younger  girl,  who  one  day  was 
discovered  by  her  father  in  tears.  Sabina  had  to 
endure  another  terrible  scene  in  which  she  was 
accused  of  trying  to  corrupt  her  sister.  She  was 
told  that  it  would  be  better  that  a  millstone  should 
be  tied  about  her  neck. 

Sabina  was  even  denied  an  escape  into  religion. 
For  some  time  she  had  attended  chapel,  and  had 
enjoyed  herself  passionately  in  the  chanting  of 
hymns  and  the  declaiming  of  psalms.  The  psalms 
especially  pleased  her  with  their  oriental  savagery 
and  pictorial  wealth.  Her  father  began  to  be  pleased 
with  her.  They  read  the  Bible  together,  and  it 
seemed  that  her  original  fear  of  him  was  at  last 
to  pass  into  an  understanding.  They  came  emotion- 
ally into  touch  for  the  first  time.  The  old  man 
began  to  feel  a  tenderness  for  his  daughter  apart 
from  his  tenderness  of  the  elder  for  a  lost  sheep  on 
the  mountains.  Then  one  fatal  day  Sabina 
wandered  into  a  strange  place  of  worship  where  a 
wonderful  pageant  was  in  progress.  The  church 
was  full  of  sweet  vapour.  There  was  a  tinkle  of 
bells,  and  a  congregation  with  bowed  heads  who 
curtsied  to  a  dim  Presence  throned  amid  lights  half 
extinguished  in  a  blue  haze,  and  signed  themselves 
mysteriously  upon  the  breast.  After  this  experi- 
ence her  father's  chapel  seemed  cold  and  mean, 
and  she  visited  again  this  other  place  which  seemed 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  37 

a  temple  fit  for  God.  Then  her  father  came  to 
hear  of  it,  and  added  the  wrath  of  a  flouted 
sectary  to  the  chastisement  of  a  parent  who  must, 
if  possible,  save  his  child  from  the  Devil. 

"  Ye'd  make  a  luxury  even  of  your  religion,"  he 
had  said. 

And  now  she  was  seeking  an  escape  in  the 
admiration  of  village  boys.  She  had  allowed  one 
of  them,  George  Dudesney,  a  young  labourer  at 
Manygates,  to'give  her  a  ring  which  she  wore  round 
her  neck  under  her  blouse.  She  rarely  associated 
the  ring  with  the  tolerated  youth  who  had  bestowed 
it;  but  she  liked  to  finger  it  in  secret  defiance  of 
her  father  in  the  dreary  farm  kitchen. 

§   2 

On  the  day  of  her  appointment  with  Guy, 
though  she  had  not  yet  consciously  decided  to  meet 
him,  she  hurried  through  her  work  in  an  excitement 
which  caused  her  breath  to  come  suddenly  in  little 
sighs.  If  she  were  really  to  go  after  all,  she  would 
have  somehow  to  explain  her  absence.  Unex- 
pectedly, however,  her  father  played  into  her 
hands.  The  two  cows  were  to  be  taken,  after 
milking,  beyond  the  road  to  the  water-meadow. 
She  would  pass  the  bend  in  the  road  where  she 
had  found  Guy.  She  would  be  early  for  the 
appointment,  but  she  could  wait. 

It  was  after  eight  when  she  took  the  cows  across, 
but  she  was  back  again  sitting  in  the  bend  of  the 
road  by  eight-thirty.  For  nearly  half-an-hour  she 
leaned  back  on  the  grass,  inertly  resting.  When 
her  thoughts  at  last  began  to  move  they  reverted 


38  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

to  the  story  of  the  women  who  had  been  carried 
off.  The  story  haunted  her,  and  pleased  her, 
and  seemed  somehow  to  be  aimed  at  a  secret 
wish. 

She  had  an  agreeable  feeling,  such  as  she  had 
not  experienced  before,  that  the  success  of  her 
effort  to  escape  no  longer  rested  with  herself.  She 
had  tried  again  and  again,  and  she  had  failed. 
Almost  she  had  ceased  to  struggle.  The  ring 
about  her  neck  was  the  secret  rebellion  of  a 
defeated  child.  But  where  she  had  failed  by 
herself  she  might  with  help  succeed.  She  did 
not  actually  put  it  thus,  but  half  the  thought  was 
there. 

The  clock  of  the  Convent  Church,  some  200  yards 
away,  broke  into  her  thoughts.  The  time  fixed 
for  the  appointment  had  come,  but  Perseus  had 
not  arrived. 

Of  course  he  had  not  remembered.  He  had 
come  with  his  cab  on  a  drunken  frolic.  He  had 
been  kind  to  her,  and  he  had  forgotten  all  about  it. 
She  felt  as  though  a  hand  held  out  had  suddenly 
been  withdrawn.  She  would  wait  a  little  longer 
and  go  back  to  the  farm,  and  everything  would 
go  on  as  before. 

At  that  moment  Sabina  came  near  to  realising 
the  significance  of  her  tragedy.  She  saw  herself 
pitifully  as  from  the  outside.  Usually  she  met  her 
disappointments  with  angry  impatience  or  she  im- 
potently  acquiesced.  But  to-night  she  had  risen 
beyond  a  momentary  vexation.  She  looked  at 
her  life,  and  was  sorry  for  it.  She  lay  back 
quietly,  her  face  sideways  to  the  road  by  which 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  39 

Perseus  should  have  come,  and  big  tears  rolled  at 
intervals  down  her  face. 

§  3 

A  motor  cyclist  rushed  round  the  bend  of  the 
road,  passed  her,  and  then,  apparently  having  some 
trouble  with  his  engine,  stopped.  She  did  not  turn 
to  see  what  he  was  doing,  until  suddenly  she 
realised  he  had  left  his  bicycle  in  the  road  and  was 
walking  back  towards  her. 

She  knew  now  who  it  was,  but  she  did  not  move. 
She  was  in  the  mood  not  to  care  how  she  looked 
or  what  anyone  might  think  of  her. 

Guy  could  not  see  her  face,  but  he  recognised 
her  at  a  glance.  He  called  her  name,  but  she  took 
not  the  slightest  notice.  He  took  her  by  the 
shoulder  and  bent  over  to  see  why  she  was  so  quiet. 
He  found  she  was  crying. 

"  Sabina,"  he  asked,  "  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

Still  she  did  not  move. 

"  What  is  it,  Sabina  ?  "  he  asked  again.  '  Tell 
me  what  it  is." 

She  turned  to  him  slowly. 

Guy  hesitated  to  think  that  he  was  the  cause  of 
her  tears.  Yet,  after  all,  she  was  here  waiting  for 
him,  and  he  was  late,  and  he  himself  would  have 
been  greatly  disappointed  if  he  had  not  seen 
her. 

"Is  it,"  he  asked,  "  because  you  thought  I 
wasn't  coming  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Partly,  perhaps,"  he  ventured,  "but  not 
altogether  ?  " 


40  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

He  thought  she  assented  to  this,  but  the  sound 
which  came  from  her  might  have  been  anything. 

Then  with  that  absurd  want  of  grace  which  so 
often  characterises  the  gestures  of  affliction,  she 
crumpled  towards  him. 

"  It's  everything,"  she  wailed. 

Her  head  missed  his  chin  by  a  nail's  breadth, 
and  fell  upon  his  overalls.  The  ends  of  her  hair 
brushed  his  face.  He  was  tremendously  concerned, 
but  he  didn't  know  in  the  least  what  to  say. 

After  a  while  she  recovered  and  drew  away  from 
him.  She  found  a  handkerchief  for  her  tears. 

At  last  she  spoke. 

"  I'm  sorry,  sir,"  she  said. 

From  being  one  of  the  afflicted  of  the  earth  she 
had  suddenly  become  a  young  person  apologising 
for  a  misdemeanour. 

Guy  took  her  by  the  arm  almost  angrily. 

'  You  mustn't  talk  to  me  like  that,"  he  said. 

Sabina  looked  at  him  a  little  scared  ;  but  offence 
was  also  lurking,  and  Guy's  manner  softened 
immediately. 

'  You  mustn't  call  me  '  Sir/  "  he  hastened  to 
elucidate,  "  and  you  mustn't  apologise.  Hang  it 
all,"  he  exclaimed  in  a  reckless  resolve  to  put  the 
position  clearly,  "  you  can't  call  a  fellow  '  Sir  ' 
when  you've  just  been  crying  on  his  chest.  My 
name's  Guy,"  he  concluded  briefly. 

"  I  can't  call  you  that,"  protested  Sabina. 

"  Then  you  can't  call  me  anything.  You  will 
have  to  say  '  Hie  '  to  me,  or  '  You  there,'  or  some- 
thing like  that." 

"  Now  you're  making  fun." 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  41 

"  Does  this  look  like  fun  ?  "  he  asked.  He 
displayed  his  patent  leather  shoes,  and,  throwing 
open  his  overalls,  disclosed  a  blazer  covering  a 
mauve  waistcoat  and  a  white  shirt. 

"  Fact  is,"  he  said,  "  I've  bolted  from  a  party. 
You  expected  me  to-night  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  was  here,  wasn't  I  ?  "  Sabina  pointed  out. 

They  were  silent  a  moment.  Guy  was  not  happy 
in  the  tension  of  these  sudden  silences. 

"  What  was  really  wrong  just  now?  "  he  asked. 
"  Aren't  you  happy  at  home  ?  " 

"I'm  not  exactly  enjoying  myself,"  she  replied. 
"  Father  doesn't  like  people  to  enjoy  themselves. 
Once,  when  I  had  been  out  with  a  fellow " 

She  paused  in  some  confusion,  and  there  was  a 
silence. 

"  Were  you  keen  on  this  '  fellow  '  ?  "  Guy  asked. 

"  No." 

"  Why  did  you  go  out  with  him  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     It  was  something  to  do." 

Guy  began  to  see  a  little  more  clearly  into 
Sabina's  life  at  the  farm.  They  were  sitting  side 
by  side  on  the  bank.  He  put  his  hand  on  her 
shoulder,  and  his  finger  rested  a  moment  on  a 
ribbon  round  her  neck. 

"  Have  you,"  he  asked,  "  ever  been  really  keen  ?  " 

"  Never,  not  really,  as  you  might  say  keen." 

Guy  was  abstractedly  playing  with  the  ribbon. 
He  hesitated  a  moment. 

"  Concerning  these  fellows "  he  began. 

'  They  come  round,"  said  Sabina.  "  Usually 
they're  only  silly,  But  there  was  one  who  wouldn't 
take  '  no '  for  an  answer." 


42  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

"  The  beast !  "  she  added  with  a  sudden  violence. 

"  Sudden  light  upon  the  decorums  of  English 
rustic  life,"  commented  a  familiar  imp  in  Guy, 
which,  even  at  this  solemn  moment,  was  not  entirely 
suppressed. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  said  aloud,  softly  rubbing 
Sabina's  cheek  with  his  finger,  "  that  I'm  not 
behaving  particularly  well  myself  at  the  present 
moment  ?  " 

Sabina  leaned  her  cheek  towards  his  hand. 

"  You're  different,"  she  said. 

He  was  again  playing  with  the  piece  of  ribbon, 
and  Sabina  felt  the  ring  she  wore  round  her  neck 
moving  under  her  dress.  She  felt  a  sudden  wish 
to  tell  Guy  things  about  herself. 

"  That  ribbon  you're  pulling,"  she  began. 

"  Well,"  said  Guy. 

"  There's  something  tied  to  it,"  she  said.  "  Pull 
it  and  you'll  see." 

Guy  pulled  it  gently. 

"  Pull  it  hard,"  she  instructed. 

He  gave  it  a  sharp  tug,  and  the  ring  came  up 
warm  from  where  it  had  lain. 

He  held  it  a  moment  and  then  put  his  cheek 
to  it. 

"  No,"  cried  Sabina  vehemently,  "  you  mustn't 
do  that." 

She  took  the  ring  away  from  him,  tore  it  from 
the  ribbon  and  flung  it  into  the  road.  It  rolled 
towards  the  bicycle  and  lay. 

Guy  looked  at  her  rather  foolishly. 

"  I  wanted  to  tell  you  about  it,"  said  Sabina. 

That  ring  was  given  to  me  by  a  fellow.     I  don't 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  43 

know  why  I  wore  it.  It  was  nothing  to  me  at 
all,  really." 

"  Let  me  give  you  a  ring,"  said  Guy.  "  I  should 
like  you  to  wear  it  as  you  were  wearing  that 
one." 

"  That  would  be  nice,"  said  Sabina. 

"  The  ring  was  warm,  Sabina,"  said  Guy,  flushing 

"  Yes,"  she  said. 

She  laughed  nervously,  and  Guy  wondered 
whether  he  ought  to  kiss  her. 

The  sun  had  gone  down  and  the  road  was  in 
shadow  between  its  high  banks.  The  Convent 
clock  struck  ten. 

"  I  must  go  now,"  said  Sabina  at  last. 

"  How  far  is  it  to  your  home  ?  " 

"  Just  over  the  fields." 

"  Let  me  come  some  of  the  way  ?  " 

"  You  can  come  to  the  hedge." 

They  walked  to  a  stile  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
road  and  passed  over  the  field  in  silence.  They 
stood  a  moment  under  the  tall  hedge  which 
separated  them  from  the  farm  windows. 

"  Good  night,"  said  Sabina. 

She  held  out  her  hand  awkwardly. 

"  Good  night,"  said  Guy. 

It  seemed  as  if  they  could  neither  part  nor  stay. 
They  waited  for  one  another.  Then  Sabina 
impatiently  turned  to  go. 

The  impatience  in  her  manner  loosened  Guy's 
constraint.  He  stepped  towards  her. 

To  a  person  observing  them  from  the  road  they 
were  two  separate  shadows  which  were  suddenly 
blended  into  one  in  the  deeper  shade  of  the  hedge, 


44  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

two  shadows  which  remained  indistinguishable  for 
nearly  a  minute. 

Guy  was  saying  :  "  When  can  I  be  with  you 
again  ?  " 

"  I  will  try  to  be  free  on  Sunday.  Wait  for  me 
in  the  road  after  dinner  in  the  afternoon." 

"  I  will  take  you  somewhere  on  my  bicycle." 

"  Let  me  go  now." 

"  Say  good-night  again." 

After  they  had  separated,  a  person  who  was 
observing  them  from  the  road  walked'  to  Guy's 
bicycle  and  surveyed  it  for  a  moment.  Then  he 
stooped,  picked  up  Sabina's  discarded  ring,  and 
put  it  in  his  pocket. 


CHAPTER  V 

§   i 

GUY,  in  his  dreams  of  fair  women,  had  hitherto 
felt  only  their  universal  attractiveness.  He 
had  now  conceived  a  particular  infatuation,  and  the 
consequences  were  not  unusual.  He  desired,  as 
soon  as  possible,  to  deepen  the  experience. 

On  arriving  at  Oxford  he  put  up  his  bicycle, 
discarded  his  overalls,  and  walked  to  the  Mitre 
to  see  whether  the  theatre  party  had  returned. 
Finding  they  were  not  yet  due  for  half  an  hour, 
he  ordered  supper  with  some  idea  of  making 
amends  for  his  desertion.  The  fact  that  he  had 
been  with  Sabina  did  not  make  him  any  the  less 
eager  to  please  Marian.  On  the  contrary,  he  felt 
an  increased  capacity  for  all  that  life  might  offer. 
He  was  aware  of  only  one  drawback,  which  at  one 
time  he  would  have  counted  serious.  He  had  no 
desire  whatever  for  good  food. 

The  party  from  the  theatre  arrived,  obviously 
under  a  cloud.  Guy  felt  the  atmosphere,  but 
ignored  it. 

"  Come  along,  people,"  he  said,  "  and  see  what 
I  have  done  for  you.  A  little  soup,  sole  frite 
chicken  and  salad,  sparkling  Saumur." 

"  So  that's  why  you  left  us,"  said  Theodore. 

Theodore  was  indecently  ready  to  conspire  with 
his  brother  to  save  the  situation  for  Marian. 

45 


46  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

Marian  took  up  the  bill  of  fare  and  looked  at  Guy. 
The  brightness  of  her  manner  was  metallic. 

"  Is  this  the  reason,  Guy  ?  "  she  asked,  waving 
the  bill. 

They  stood  a  little  apart  from  the  others.  Guy 
stepped  to  her  and  touched  her  lightly  on  the  arm. 
"  Marian,"  he  said,  "  it  was  rude  of  me.  I'm  sorry 
if  you  minded." 

His  experience  at  Manygates  had  sensitised  him 
in  quite  a  novel  way.  His  awakened  feeling  for 
one  woman  warmed  him  to  the  merits  of  another. 
This  is  nature's  own  paradox,  and  only  life  gives  it 
proof. 

The  supper,  when  it  arrived,  was  superficially 
a  success.  Marian  glittered.  Guy,  with  a  des- 
perate sense  of  being  in  disgrace,  was  almost 
boisterous.  He  had  been  snubbed  by  Marian  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life,  just  at  the  moment,  too, 
when  he  was  feeling  unaccountably  affectionate. 

§   2 

The  unconfessed  emotions  of  the  supper  table 
were  afterwards  loosened  in  two  scenes.  Aunt 
Helen,  going  to  Marian's  room  an  hour  after  her 
retirement,  found  her  lying  on  the  bed  with  her 
clothes  on.  She  lay  back  reading  Diana  of  the 
Crossways.  She  took  Meredith  as  another  girl 
might  take  aspirin. 

Aunt  Helen  removed  the  book. 

"  What  I  like  about  Meredith,"  said  Marian, 
unabashed,  "  is  that  he  makes  you  understand  how 
men  can  be  perfectly  beastly  and  yet  be  not  half 
so  bad  after  all." 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  47 

"  Don't  go  round  about  with  me,"  said  Aunt 
Helen.  "  You've  been  very  miserable  this  evening." 

"  Am  I  going  round  about  ?  "  said  Marian.  "  I 
was  speaking  of  men.  I  suppose  the  best  of  them 
have  appointments."  She  paused  a  moment. 
"  I  wonder  whether  he  kissed  her,"  she  added. 

"  How  do  you  know  it  was  that  ?  " 

"  What  else  could  it  be  ?  I  almost  hope  it  was. 
I  shouldn't  like  Guy  to  desert  me  on  a  day  like  this 
to  buy  a  billiard  cue.  Besides  you  could  see  that 
he  was  full  of  it  when  he  came  back." 

"  Full  of  what  ?  " 

"  It — Her — Nature — if  we  must  give  it  a  name." 

She  broke  off  and  shivered  a  little,  looking  very 
bright  in  the  eye. 

"  And  he  touched  me,  Auntie,  down  there, 
because  he  was  full  of  somebody  else." 

§3 

The  other  scene  took  place  earlier  somewhere 
between  the  Mitre  and  Balliol  porch. 

Theodore  gripped  Guy  by  the  arm,  as  they 
rounded  the  corner  into  Turl  Street. 

"  You  spoiled  the  day  for  Marian,"  he  said 
Why  on  earth  did  you  do  it  ?  " 

Guy  shook  off  his  brother  and  walked  on. 

"  Was  it  anything  to  do  with  your  celebration 
last  week?  "  Theodore  persisted. 

"  Partly." 

They  passed  into  Balliol  and  crossed  to  their 
rooms  in  silence. 

At  the  door  of  Guy's  bedroom  they  stopped,  and 
Theodore  said  : 


48  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

"  Are  you  making  a  fool  of  yourself  with  some 
girl?" 

"  Put  it  that  way  if  you  like,"  said  Guy. 

Then  he  added  in  exasperation  : 

"  What's  all  this  fuss  about  ?  I  cut  two  acts  of 
a  bad  play,  and  I  was  away  just  over  an  hour." 

Theodore  looked  at  his  brother  quietly  in  the 
dim  light  of  the  passage. 

"  You  spoiled  Marian's  evening,"  he  said. 

"You  were  there,  weren't  you?"  said  Guy. 
"  Surely  one  of  us  was  enough." 

Without  another  look  at  his  brother,  Theodore 
turned  down  the  passage  and  went  into  his  bedroom. 

§4 

The  Sunday  dinner  hour  at  Manygates  was  at  one 
o'clock,  and  Sabina  had  escaped  to  her  room  by 
1.30.  Sabina's  room  was  a  limbo  entirely  vacuous 
as  an  expression  of  the  occupier.  There  was  texts 
upon  the  wall,  the  picture  of  a  large  dog  playing 
with  a  little  dog,  and  various  relicts  of  Sabina's 
kindergarten  activities  in  beads  and  coloured  wool. 
Her  dressing  table  was  a  chest  of  drawers  with  a 
small  looking  glass  and  the  usual  china  receptacles 
containing  odd  buttons,  hooks  and  eyes  and  hair- 
pins. The  glass  was  tarnished,  and,  as  the  window 
was  heavily  draped  with  lace  curtains,  originally 
white  but  now  grey  with  yellow  patches,  there  was 
little  light.  She  had  to  put  her  head  close  to  the 
glass  when  she  wanted  to  see  whether  her  face 
was  really  clean  or  the  parting  in  her  hair  as 
straight  as  it  should  be. 

Sabina  had  never  realised  the  inadequacy  of  her 
looking-glass  so  keenly  as  this  afternoon.  But  she 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  49 

was  less  troubled  about  her  looking-glass  appear- 
ance than  about  the  state  of  her  hands.  Her  face, 
she  knew,  could  be  left  to  take  care  of  itself,  but 
her  hands  were  a  torment.  She  scrubbed  them 
with  pumice  and  dipped  into  various  bottles,  but 
still  they  showed  the  wrinkles  of  hard  labour. 

Sabina  had  lived  in  a  happy  dream  since  the 
evening  of  her  meeting  with  Guy.  At  last  she 
had  really  escaped.  Her  father  and  the  daily 
round  were  phantasmal,  and  the  one  reality  of 
her  world  was  that  she  would  see  Guy  again  almost 
before  she  had  exhausted  the  sweetness  in  retro- 
spect of  their  last  meeting.  Her  father  commented 
harshly  upon  her  absence  of  mind. 

Sabina,  now  and  then,  found  herself  narrowly 
eyed  by  the  young  labourer  who  was  living  on  the 
farm.  She  hardly  noted  this,  however.  She  was 
too  much  accustomed  to  the  hard  staring  of  youths. 
Perhaps  she  would  have  paid  him  more  serious 
attention  had  she  known  that,  as  he  watched  her 
at  work,  he  was  fingering  a  ring  which  she  had 
lately  thrown  into  the  road. 

§5 

Guy  was  first  at  the  meeting  place,  a  Jacob  who 
at  last  had  worked  sufficiently  for  Rachel.  On  the 
day  which  followed  his  last  meeting  with  Sabina, 
he  had  breakfasted  with  Marian  at  Balliol,  lunched 
with  her  again  on  the  river,  and  begged  her  and 
the  Duke  and  Aunt  Helen  to  stay  another  evening. 
He  had  been  obliged  to  supply  all  the  cheerfulness 
and  most  of  the  conversation,  and  the  nicer  he  was 
to  Marian  the  more  she  seemed  to  resent  it.  He 


50  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

could  not  understand  why  she  failed  to  respond  to 
his  affectionate  advances,  more  especially  as  he 
was  thinking  all  the  while  of  Sabina  in  delicious 
snatches  of  unbidden  ecstasy,  and  was  thus  unable 
to  give  more  than  half  his  attention  to  the  problem. 
Incidentally  he  had  also  to  endure  his  brother's 
unspoken  criticism.  He  came  to  Sabina  for  his 
reward. 

They  met  a  little  awkwardly,  less  on  account  of 
their  being  in  the  broad  sunlight  and  subject  to 
the  sudden  intrusion  of  wayfarers,  than  on  account 
of  that  unavoidable  shyness  which  attends  the 
continuation  in  cold  blood  of  an  ardent  relationship. 

"  It's  a  fine  day  for  our  ride,"  said  Guy. 

'  Yes,"  said  Sabina,  "  I  thought  it  was  going  to 
rain  this  morning." 

There  was  a  slight  pause. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  climb  the  bicycle  ?  "  Guy 
suggested. 

'  You'll  have  to  show  me  how  to  sit,"  said  Sabina. 

The  bicycle  started,  and  soon  she  was  clinging 
fast.  When  the  novelty  of  the  sensation  had 
subsided  she  had  leisure  to  be  astonishingly  happy. 
Sabina  was  pleasantly  aware  of  the  hold  she  had 
upon  her  furious  rider.  There  is  no  such  intimacy 
to  be  had  in  broad  daylight  and  full  in  the  eye  of 
a  censorious  world  as  can  be  enjoyed  upon  a  motor 
bicycle.  Guy  could  have  ridden  for  ever  thus 
encircled.  He  rode  as  far  as  Hungerford. 

At  Hungerford  they  put  up  the  bicycle  and 
walked  at  a  venture  into  the  country,  finding  tea 
at  a  farmhouse  on  the  way.  It  was  a  substantial 
tea  at  six  o'clock  in  the  evening  with  eggs  and 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  51 

frizzled  ham,  which  was  Guy's  idea  of  a  novel 
experience  for  a  country  girl. 

Sabina,  behind  the  teapot,  was  nervous.  She 
wondered  continually  whether  she  was  sufficiently 
correct.  Guy  at  the  tea-table  found  conversation 
difficult.  He  spent  most  of  the  time  asking 
questions  about  Sabina's  way  of  life  and  her 
preferences.  Her  answers  were  disconcerting.  She 
was  evidently  not  very  fond  of  life  at  Manygates, 
and  her  preferences  were  limited. 

"  I  hate  the  country,"  said  Sabina.  "  I  seem 
to  be  shut  up  and  can  hardly  breathe.  Most  of  all, 
I  hate  the  trees.  I  am  terrified  by  trees.  I 
should  die  if  I  found  myself  among  trees  after 
dark." 

"  But  up  on  the  hill  to-day,"  protested  Guy, 
alluding  to  a  moment  when  they  had  stood  watch- 
ing the  cloud  shadows  as  they  swam  over  the 
floor  of  the  Oxford  Plain. 

"  It  was  nice  up  there,"  said  Sabina. 

Guy  found  nothing  wrong  with  the  sentiment, 
and  after  all  the  word  was  not  altogether  misplaced. 
It  had  been  "  nice  "  indeed. 

At  teatime,  in  a  sudden  access  of  frankness 
brought  on  by  Guy's  constant  friendliness  and 
understanding,  Sabina,  after  hesitating  and  flush- 
ing a  little,  called  him  by  his  name  for  the  first 
time. 

"  Guy,"  she  began. 

Guy  put  his  hand  on  hers,  which  lay  on  the  table. 

Sabina  made  an  effort. 
'  Tell  me  when  I  do  things  wrong,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  " 


52  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

"  I've  been  brought  up  different.  I  shan't 
always  do  things  right.  You  will  tell  me,  won't 
you  ?  " 

"  Stuff,"  said  Guy. 

He  was  content  to  ignore  Sabina's  blemishes, 
and  it  annoyed  him  that  she  would  not  allow  him 
to  do  so. 

Sabina  had  an  ambition  to  be  polite.  Her  action 
in  taking  tea  was  characteristic.  Lifting  the  cup 
between  her  forefinger  and  thumb,  she  removed  all 
her  other  fingers  as  far  as  possible  out  of  harm's 
way.  Her  little  finger  aspired  to  heaven  in  a  final 
curve. 

Guy  suddenly  realised  that  he  did  not  like  it. 

She  had  asked  him  hardly  a  moment  ago  to  tell 
her.  He  bent  over  the  table  and  straightened  her 
fingers  on  the  handle  of  the  cup.  Sabina,  thinking 
that  a  playful  caress  was  intended,  smiled. 

"  Guy,"  she  said,  "  don't  be  silly  ;  you'll  make 
me  spill  my  tea." 

Then,  to  show  that  she  really  knew  how  to  take 
tea,  she  lifted  the  finger  again. 

"  Put  it  down,"  said  Guy,  in  a  brotherly  way. 

Sabina  put  down  her  cup. 

"No,"  said  Guy  ;   "the  finger." 

He  imitated  her  grasp  of  the  cup,  demonstrating 
the  offence. 

Too  late  he  realised  his  mistake.  To  admit  that 
you  may  have  social  deficiencies  is  one  thing ;  to 
be  told  of  them  is  another.  Sabina  slowly  flushed. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  added.  "  I  think  I  know  my 
manners." 

Guy  was  immediately  abject. 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  53 

"  Sabina,  dear.  Really  it  doesn't  matter.  I 
don't  care  a  straw  either  way  ;  but  you  told  me  to 
tell  you." 

"  I  know  all  about  it,"  said  Sabina,  in  a  dry 
anger.  "  I  don't  know  how  to  behave,  and  there's 
an  end  of  it." 

"  Sabina,"  Guy  protested  helplessly,  "  please  be 
sensible." 

"  Why  did  you  come  if  you  didn't  think  I  was 
good  enough  ?  "  she  wailed.  She  covered  her  eyes 
with  her  hands  and  began  to  cry. 

"  Hang  it  all,"  said  Guy,  now  thoroughly  ex- 
asperated, "  I  didn't " 

Sabina's  grief  now  threatened  to  become  audible. 

Guy  rose  from  his  chair  and  looked  out  of  the 
window.  He  was  repelled  by  the  injustice  of  her 
conduct,  but  this  somehow  made  him  all  the  more 
anxious  to  win  her  back.  He  came  over  to  her,  and 
she,  loudly  self-pitying,  buried  herself  in  his  coat. 

"  Don't  let  it  make  any  difference,"  she  sobbed. 

Guy  gave  up  any  point  he  might  have  desired 
to  make. 

Peace  followed,  but  it  was  not  till  after  the  ride 
home  that  Sabina  would  forget  the  incident.  She 
took  no  more  tea  at  the  cottage.  She  couldn't 
face  the  dilemma  presented  by  her  little  finger. 
To  lift  it  might  after  all  be  wrong  ;  to  lower  it  would 
be  a  capitulation. 

6 

The  day  at  Hungerford  was  the  first  of  a  series 
of  meetings  ;  hurried  meetings  near  Manygates  ; 
short  walks  in  the  country,  and  two  blissful  expedi- 


54  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

tions,  one  on  the  bicycle  and  one  on  foot  to  villages 
in  the  neighbourhood. 

Sabina  wholly  surrendered  herself  to  a  passion 
which  had  nothing  to  impede  it  but  a  rankling  sense 
of  inferiority  which  often  made  her  fancy  a  slight 
where  none  was  intended. 

The  summer  term  drew  to  an  end,  and  soon  it 
was  Guy's  last  week  at  Oxford.  On  the  last  even- 
ing before  going  down  he  walked  with  Sabina  far 
into  the  country.  They  rested  long  and  arrived 
back  at  Manygates  late  in  the  evening.  Guy, 
being  thirsty,  called  at  a  public  house  for  beer  and 
pressed  Sabina,  who  also  was  thirsty,  to  have  some, 
too.  She  said  she  would  have  some  cyder. 

She  would  not  enter  the  inn,  so  he  brought  her  a 
tumbler  outside.     On  leaving  the  inn,   Guy,   for 
something  to  say,  sang  the  praises  of  English  beer. 
To  his  surprise,  Sabina  cut  short  his  rhapsodies. 

"  I  hate  beer,"  she  said. 

"  Have  you  ever  tasted  it  ?  "  Guy  asked. 

"  No,"  said  Sabina. 

'  Then  how  do  you  know  you  hate  it  ?  "  Guy 
asked  chaffingly. 

"  I  hope  you  wouldn't  ask  me  to  drink  beer," 
said  Sabina. 

"  Not  if  you  don't  like  it,"  responded  Guy,  sur- 
prised at  her  vehemence. 

"  Beer,"  said  Sabina  decisively,  "  is  a  vulgar 
drink." 

"  Tastes  differ,"  said  Guy. 

"  I'd  rather  you  didn't  drink  it  yourself,"  said 
Sabina.  "  At  least  not  when  you're  with  me." 

"  But  that's  unreasonable,"  Guy  expostulated. 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  55 

He  was  feeling  within  him  the  stir  of  the  just  man 
confronted  with  an  irrational  prejudice. 

"  I'd  rather  you  didn't,"  Sabina  repeated  ob- 
stinately. 

"  But  why  ?  " 

"  Because  I  object  to  it." 

They  had  arrived  not  far  from  Manygates.  Guy 
saw  his  last  day  with  Sabina  ending  in  eclipse.  It 
hurt  him  more  for  being  so  obviously  absurd.  At 
the  same  time  he  was  furiously  angry.  They 
walked  on  in  silence  for  a  while. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Guy,  who,  because  the  subject 
irritated  him,  somehow  couldn't  leave  it  alone, 
"  You'd  like  me  to  apologise  for  having  beer  at 
the  inn  ?  " 

"  You  didn't  know  I  objected,"  said  Sabina, 
with  a  maddening  air  of  making  excuses  for  a 
breach  of  taste. 

Guy  lost  his  temper  outright.  Their  silly  argu- 
ment brought  to  snapping-point  the  strain  of  their 
social  encounters  outside  the  circle  of  their  fatal 
attraction  for  one  another.  He  stopped  inthe  road. 

"Sabina,"  he  said,  'You're  being  perfectly 
absurd." 

She  gave  him  a  poisonous  look  and  walked  off, 
leaving  him  in  the  road.  She  expected  him  to 
follow  her  as  he  had  done  before  on  a  similar 
occasion,  but  Guy  stood  fast. 

"  This  is  a  crisis,"  he  thought. 

Her  footsteps  became  fainter  and  then  ceased. 
He  thought  she  had  stopped,  but,  on  looking  round, 
he  saw  that  she  had  taken  to  the  grass  and  was 
crossing  to  the  stile  which  gave  upon  the  path  to 


56  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

Manygates  farm.  That  she  should  go  off  like  this 
for  nothing  at  all  after  their  long  day  together 
(and  their  last  day  too)  amazed  him. 

"  I  give  it  up,"  he  concluded  hopelessly. 

He  walked  irresolutely  after  her  for  a  moment. 
He  reached  the  stile  and  looked  over.  She  had 
arrived  at  the  hedge  where  they  had  parted  on  the 
night  of  the  theatre  party.  There  she  stopped  a 
moment  and  looked  back.  Guy  signed  to  her  to 
return.  She  shook  her  head,  but  invited  him  to 
come  to  her.  As  usual  she  demanded  uncon- 
ditional surrender.  Guy  firmly  remained  where 
he  was.  Suddenly  she  turned  away  past  the  high 
hedge  and  was  lost.  For  the  next  hour  Guy  walked 
about  for  some  time  trying  to  fathom  her  perversity. 
As  he  allowed  nothing  for  that  exasperation  of  the 
blood  inseparable  from  their  condition,  his  re- 
flections did  not  carry  him  far. 

"  We  get  on  one  another's  nerves,  I  suppose," 
he  told  himself  at  last. 

§7 

He  had  a  light  supper  at  an  inn  near  by.  He 
wanted  beer,  but  he  ordered  claret  instead.  This 
was  a  symptom.  Another  symptom  was  his  inability 
to  leave  the  neighbourhood.  It  was  n  o'clock  when 
he  left  the  inn  and  began  to  walk  back  to  Oxford. 

He  had  never  seen  Manygates  farm.  Sabina 
was  always  thoroughly  alarmed  at  the  idea  of  his 
coming  past  the  high  hedge.  Light  claret  and 
reckless  despair  brought  him  to  a  halt  at  the  stile. 
He  was  leaving  Oxford  the  next  day,  and  he  had 
parted  from  Sabina  in  anger.  At  least  he  would  look 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  57 

upon  the  house  in  which  she  lay.  It  was  now  too  late 
for  anyone  to  be  abroad,  and  the  night  was  dark. 

Soon  the  high  hedge  was  behind  him,  and  the 
confused  dark  mass  of  Manygates  was  below.  A 
steep  hill  led  down  to  the  back  of  the  farm.  He 
could  almost  have  stepped  on  to  the  outbuildings 
from  the  hillside,  and  the  windows  of  the  upper 
storey  were  on  a  level  with  Guy's  head  as  he  crept 
towards  them.  Soon  by  putting  out  his  hand  be 
felt  a  wall.  He  remained  still  for  a  moment,  and 
his  eyes,  now  used  to  the  dark,  told  him  that  he 
was  beside  a  shed  which  leaned  towards  the  house. 
Above  the  roof  of  the  shed  was  a  window  of  the 
farm  itself.  As  he  stood  in  the  dark,  excited  by  the 
thought  of  being  so  near  to  Sabina,  he  heard  a  rust- 
ling overhead.  Then  a  whisper  came  down  to  him. 

"  Is  that  you,  Guy  ?  " 

"  Sabina?  " 

"  I  knew  it  was  you  coming  down  the  hill. 
Guy,  you  must  go  at  once.  I'm  frightened." 

"  But  you're  glad,  Sabina  ?  " 

The  voice  from  above  whispered  :  "  I  don't  know 
what  made  me  so  horrible  this  evening.  I  don't 
seem  to  know  what  I'm  saying  sometimes." 

The  voice  ceased  for  a  moment. 

"  Go  now,  Guy.  You  oughtn't  to  have  come," 
it  continued. 

"  Can  you  reach  me,  Sabina  ?  " 

"  No,  you're  too  far  down." 

"  Try." 

"  I  can't.     I'm  leaning  right  out  of  the  window." 

"  Sabina,  let  me  touch  you  before  I  go." 

"  I  can't  reach." 


58 


He  saw  her  now  as  a  white  wraith  in  the  black 
frame  of  the  window,  and  began  to  pull  himself  up 
towards  her.  He  heard  her  catch  her  breath  as  he 
did  so.  Then  she  whispered  urgently  : 

"  Don't,  Guy !  I'm  terrified  someone  will  see  you." 

"  It's  too  dark  for  that,"  said  Guy. 

She  waited  silently.  Every  sound  he  made  in 
scrambling  up  the  inclined  roof  of  the  shed  seemed 
as  though  it  must  wake  the  whole  world.  She 
seemed  unable  to  act.  He  appeared  at  the  window 
only  as  a  shadow,  a  little  darker  than  the  night 
outside,  and  he  could  see  nothing  in  the  room 
except  her  white  figure  vaguely  to  the  side  of  the 
window.  He  hesitated. 

"  Give  me  your  hand,"  he  whispered.  She  did 
not  answer  or  move.  He  hesitated  no  longer,  but 
entered  the  room  and  found  her  breathing  beside 
him.  She  slipped  into  his  arms. 

"  You're  shivering,  Sabina,"  he  said. 

"  I'm  not  cold,"  she  assured  him.  Her  teeth 
chattered  as  she  spoke. 

'  You're  frightened,"  he  said,  with  a  sudden 
remorse.  "  I'll  go  away  now — at  once.  I  hate  to 
terrify  you  like  this." 

Her  grip  tightened,  and  he  could  feel  that  her 
heart  was  beating  fast. 

"  I'm  not  really  frightened — not  now,"  she  said. 
"  I  don't  want  you  to  go,  not  yet." 


Time  passed  unnoticed  in  the  little  room  till  at 
last  the  window  appeared  as  a  pale  patch  in  the  wall, 
and  Guy  could  see  Sabina's  face  on  the  pillow  thrown 
into  relief  by  her  hair.  They  perceived  that  the 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  59 

darkness  was  not  so  dark,  and  Sabina  felt  that  they 
were  being  slowly  discovered.  She  communicated 
to  Guy  the  fear  that  sharpened  in  her,  and  he  made 
ready  to  go. 

All  was  quiet  as  he  cautiously  descended  from 
the  window,  except  that  a  dog  began  to  bark  on  the 
further  side  of  Manygates. 


CHAPTER  VI 

§  i 

GUY  came  down  to  London  from  Oxford  with 
introductions  in  his  pocket  to  one  or  two 
London  editors.  He  took  rooms  with  Powicke  in 
Well  Walk,  Hampstead. 

Things  went  well  with  his  literary  career.  One 
of  his  introductions  was  to  Mr.  Robert  Henderson 
of  the  Moderator.  Henderson  needed  a  musical 
critic.  He  had  heard  of  Guy  from  Oxford  as  a 
leader  of  the  musical  set  in  the  University,  a  lively 
practitioner  upon  various  instruments,  and  a  man 
who  had  spent  his  vacations  at  Leipzig.  Guy 
could,  moreover,  write  about  music  in  compre- 
hensible English,  and  he  was  a  human  being.  In 
short,  he  was  the  musical  critic  for  whom  most 
editors  in  London  are  looking. 

As  musical  critic  of  a  distinguished  weekly 
Review,  Guy  received  the  freedom  of  no  mean 
literary  city.  Avenues  were  opened  upon  every 
side,  and  he  shortly  began  to  know  many  of 
the  young  men  in  London  whose  names  had 
hitherto  been  familiar  to  him  only  from  print  or 
hearsay. 

There  was  a  strange  duplicity  in  Guy's  life  at 
this  time.  In  London  he  lived  upon  ideas,  on 
music,  on  the  gratifying  progress  of  his  reputation, 
on  the  delight  of  earning  money  in  the  open 

CO 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  61 

market,  upon  the  interest  aroused  by  new  ac- 
quaintances. 

Out  of  this  London  life  he  would  slip  away  to 
Sabina.  They  met  in  the  open  country,  and  their 
meetings  were  prolonged  into  the  late  evening.  As 
he  passed  to  and  fro  on  his  bicycle,  the  new 
green  of  summer  darkened  in  the  ageing  leaves  of 
the  hazel ;  the  wheat  ripened  beside  him,  stood  for 
a  while  in  sheaves,  and  was  gathered  away  ;  the 
country  was  gradually  lit  with  the  colours  of 
autumn  ;  and  soon  he  was  running  through  the 
eddying  dry  leaves  of  late  October. 

They  never  spoke  of  marriage.  They  in- 
stinctively avoided  a  question  which  threatened 
their  felicity.  The  question  of  marriage  was  bound 
up  with  all  those  disconcerting  differences  in  out- 
look and  intellect,  in  manner  and  habit  of  speech, 
which  made  ordinary  friendly  intercourse  so 
difficult.  These  differences  waited  inexorably  in 
the  background  ;  and,  when  rapture  failed,  they 
intruded.  But  they  were  ordinarily  allowed  to 
lie,  except  when  Sabina  occasionally  drew  attention 
to  her  shortcomings  with  a  desperate  obscure  wish 
that  Guy  would  reassure  her.  Guy  invariably 
protested  on  these  occasions  that  such  things  did 
not  greatly  matter.  This  failed  to  pacify  Sabina, 
for  it  implied  that  there  was  something  to  be 
overlooked. 

§   2 

The  meetings  with  Sabina  ceased  abruptly 
towards  the  end  of  November.  One  evening,  when 
Guy  returned  late  from  a  concert,  he  saw  propped 


62  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

against  the  clock  a  letter  with  the  Abingdon  post- 
mark. 

He  sat  for  a  while  fingering  the  envelope.  For 
the  first  time  he  really  faced  the  question  of 
marriage.  He  tried  to  think  of  Sabina  as  sharing 
his  life  in  London.  Undoubtedly  he  loved  her,  and 
he  felt  for  her  an  immense  gratitude.  There  were 
meetings  he  could  never  forget,  times  when  she 
had  given  him  not  herself  alone,  but  the  joy  of 
being  chosen  and  admitted  to  nature's  heart. 

He  opened  the  letter  and  read.  There  was 
neither  heading  nor  signature,  and  it  ended 
abruptly  as  it  began  : — 

Guy,  I  can't  go  on  any  longer.  There  is  a  man  here 
on  the  Farm  who  gave  me  the  ring  that  was  round  my 
neck  on  the  night  the  first  time  you  met  me.  He  has 
seen  you,  and  I  am  too  frightened  to  have  you  come 
again.  Besides,  what  is  the  use  ?  How  can  we  go  on 
like  this  ?  I  am  wishing  for  you  now,  but  I  have  been 
made  to  see  what  dreadful  things  might  happen.  I 
couldn't  face  them,  Guy.  I'm  not  brave  enough  to  go 
on.  I  should  only  be  frightened  and  miserable  if  you 
came  again.  What  will  you  do  when  you  get  this  letter  ? 
I  don't  care  what  you  do.  I  won't  marry  you,  because 
we  should  quarrel  horribly.  I  have  thought  it  all  out 
and  I  am  sure  it  wouldn't  do.  I  know  quite  well  it 
wouldn't.  I  want  you  not  to  come  to  me  any  more  ; 
that  will  be  best,  you  will  only  make  me  miserable. 

Guy  realised  almost  at  once  that  he  would  take 
Sabina  at  her  word.  Remorse  and  bereavement 
conflicted  strangely  with  a  sense  of  relief  and 
restoration. 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  63 

His  letter  of  farewell  to  Sabina  troubled  him 
greatly.  No  clear  note  could  come  of  his  con- 
tradictory emotions.  After  several  attempts  he 
sent  a  message  which  seemed  to  him  curiously 
stilted.  He  ended  by  asking  her  to  let  him  know, 
without  fail,  if  ever  he  could  help  her  in  any  way. 

During  the  next  few  weeks  Guy  experienced  a 
sense  of  bitter  deprivation,  but  he  did  not  ask  to 
see  Sabina  again.  More  and  more  the  new  life  in 
London  claimed  and  captivated  him. 

§  3 

It  seemed  natural  that,  as  a  part  of  his  London 
life,  Guy  should  try  to  renew  his  intimacy  with 
Marian  ;  and  he  was  not  a  little  hurt  that  his 
advances  in  this  direction  should  be  rather  coolly 
received.  Marian  never  came  to  the  rooms  in 
Hampstead  with  Aunt  Helen,  or  showed  any 
apparent  interest  in  Guy's  activities.  Aunt  Helen 
at  last  became  almost  severe  with  her  ;  and,  when 
Guy  asked  them  both  to  a  Christmas  party  in 
Well  Walk,  she  insisted  that  Marian  should 
accompany  her. 

Marian  was  finally  persuaded.  She  came  with 
Aunt  Helen  and  a  girl  from  Newnham.  Powicke, 
sharing  the  Hampstead  rooms,  was  naturally  of 
the  party,  and  Theodore  came  from  the  Temple 
where  he  had  taken  chambers  and  was  reading  for 
the  bar. 

It  became  a  musical  evening.  Guy  asked  Marian 
to  play  with  him  an  arrangement  for  two  pianos 
of  a  concerto  by  Bach.  Marian  pleaded  that  she 
was  not  in  the  vein,  but  was  overruled  by  the 


64  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

company  on  the  principle  that  two  pianos  were 
better  than  one.  Powicke's  piano  was  wheeled  in 
from  the  neighbouring  room. 

Marian  at  first  wilfully  disregarded  Guy's 
attempts  at  enthusiasm.  Gradually,  however,  as 
she  became  impersonally  absorbed  into  the  music, 
her  estrangement  from  Guy  seemed  almost  con- 
temptible so  long  as  they  could  meet  upon  heights 
such  as  here  were  offered.  There  was  a  silence  as 
they  lingered  upon  the  conclusion  of  one  of  Bach's 
most  tragic  utterances  ;  and,  poised  in  sadness  for 
an  instant,  dipped  suddenly  into  the  vivace. 
Marian  finished  with  eyes  that  sparkled  for  Guy 
alone,  and  Guy  reached  his  hand  to  her  over  the 
piano  as  they  met  the  applause. 

When  the  party  broke  up,  Powicke  took  charge  of 
the  Newnham  girl,  and  Theodore  left  for  the  Temple. 

Aunt  Helen  remained  a  while  with  Marian.  She 
perceived  that  somehow  the  coolness  between  Guy 
and  Marian  had  been  removed,  though  they  had 
not  spoken  a  word.  She  supposed  it  was  the 
music.  It  had  somehow  gone  to  their  heads. 
She  was  satisfied  to  observe  that  music  after  all 
had  its  uses. 

Guy  accompanied  them  to  Fern  Cottage,  and, 
at  the  gate,  Aunt  Helen,  anxious  to  efface  herself, 
left  them  with  a  brief  good  night.  Guy  felt  extra- 
ordinarily reluctant  to  part  with  Marian.  He  had 
recovered  something  which  immensely  mattered, 
and  he  wanted  to  prolong  the  sensation. 

"  We  must  play  together  more  often,"  he  said 
as  they  came  to  a  stand." 

"  The  music  was  good,"  said  Marian. 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  65 

During  their  performance  she  had  felt  enor- 
mously glad  that  they  could  be  thus  secretly 
intimate  in  a  crowded  room,  that  they  could  meet 
in  an  enthusiasm  devoutly  shared. 

"  I  have  the  best  of  him,"  she  had  thought,  as 
again  and  again  their  feeling  had  met  implicitly  in 
a  perfect  phrase. 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  Why  not  one  of  our  ancient  rambles  ?  "  said 
Guy  at  last. 

"  Give  me  five  minutes,"  said  Marian.  "  I  will 
put  on  some  sensible  shoes." 

She  walked  with  Guy  in  silence  to  the  Heath, 
climbed  up  to  Jack  Straw,  and  dropped  again  to 
the  foot  of  a  little  hill  covered  with  gorse  and 
brambles  and  topped  with  pines.  There  they 
stood  awhile,  looking  over  wide  stretches  of  country, 
silken  and  cold  with  mist.  After  their  executive 
fevers  they  enjoyed  the  silence  and  freshness  of 
the  clear  December  night.  Cold  airs  from  the  open 
spaces  at  their  feet  rustled  up  the  hill  and  died 
away  on  the  further  side. 

"  Marian,"  said  Guy  suddenly,  "  I  have  missed 
you  badly." 

Marian  didn't  answer. 

"  Say  something,"  said  Guy.  "  Why  was  the 
cold  shoulder  ?  " 

"  Was  she  very  pretty  ?  "  she  asked  suddenly. 
"  Or  was  it  her  conversation  ?  " 

Guy  looked  at  Marian  in  some  astonishment. 
Then  he  said  quite  naturally, 

"  I  couldn't  help  myself." 

"  You  cared  for  her  very  much  ?  " 


66  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Guy. 

"  And  now  it's  finished  ?  "  Marian  insisted. 

"  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  ever  see  her  again." 

He  paused  and  added  :  "  How  different  we  can 
be  at  different  times." 

Marian's  pride  shrank  from  any  further  angling 
in  these  waters,  but  the  impulse  was  strong  for  a 
moment.  She  resisted  it,  and  soon  Guy  turned  to 
her  unprompted. 

"  It's  jolly  to  be  friends  again,"  he  said. 

He  looked  at  her,  cool  and  companionly,  and 
lightly  pressed  her  fingers  as  they  turned  to  go 
down. 


CHAPTER  VII 

§  i 

EVERY  other  Friday  Henderson  gave  a  dinner 
to  his  contributors,  which  often  included  dis- 
tinguished politicians.  Guy  began  to  attend  these 
fortnightly  gatherings,  and  Theodore,  who  had 
lately  joined  the  staff  of  the  Moderator  as  a  leader- 
writer,  also  appeared.  On  these  occasions  Theo- 
dore gravitated  at  once  towards  the  men  of  affairs  ; 
Guy  was  as  certainly  to  be  found  among  the  rogues 
and  vagabonds. 

But  the  rogues  and  vagabonds  who  wrote  for  the 
Moderator  had  steady  balances  at  the  bank  ;  they 
belonged  to  the  Travellers'  Club,  the  Beefsteak,  or 
the  Savile.  They  had  been  born  wise,  and  Balliol 
had  only  made  them  a  very  little  wiser.  They 
prophesied  eminence  for  Guy,  when  his  oats  had 
been  sown.  Some  were  a  little  dubious  of  the 
propriety  of  his  sowing  them  in  the  Moderator, 
but  musical  critics,  they  reflected,  were  hard  to 
find. 

There  were  times  when  Guy  felt  uncomfortably 
detached  from  the  "  Moderators."  The  shade  of 
Meredith  hovered  palpably  over  the  discreetly 
lighted  table,  and  there  were  times  when  one  half 
expected  Diana  of  the  Crossways  to  enter  upon 
the  arm  of  Mr.  Tonans.  Guy  would  suddenly 
pine  for  the  louder  values  of  the  Cafe  Royal,  or 

67 


«8  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

for  the  cheerful  uproar  of  home  parties  in  Well 
Walk.  He  had  not  yet  learned  that  in  the  interests 
of  conversation  it  is  often  necessary  to  ignore  what 
cannot  be  easily  and  lightly  said,  and  he  often  re- 
sented the  orderly  complacencies  of  the  dinner 
table. 

§   2 

One  night  in  early  spring  Guy,  after  one  of  these 
parties,  decided  to  walk  home  to  his  rooms  in  Hamp- 
stead.  It  was  a  warm  evening.  He  carried  his  hat 
and  allowed  the  wind  to  play  with  his  light  over- 
coat. The  dead  silence  of  the  blind  houses  pleased 
him  with  its  suggestion  of  shuttered  mystery. 
So  far  as  he  thought  at  all  he  thought  only  in 
pictures.  He  saw  again  the  table  at  Henderson's 
house  in  Portland  Square,  choice  with  flowers  and 
silver  and  glass.  He  heard  the  decent  laughter, 
the  low  individual  conversations  suddenly  inter- 
rupted by  a  general  appeal  for  attention  to  a 
common  topic,  or  to  something  specially  worth 
while ;  intellect  and  humour  kept  well  in  re- 
straint ;  a  general  air  of  experience  and  discipline. 

Admirably  in  harmony  with  all  this,  Guy  sud- 
denly saw  Marian  dressed  for  one  of  their  excursions 
together.  It  was  an  impression  of  clear  eyes,  an 
upright  carriage,  and  a  voice  with  intimate  tones 
and  a  way  of  uttering  his  name  unlike  any  other. 

These  pictures  pleasantly  suffused  his  memory. 
He  had  seen  a  good  deal  of  Marian  during  the 
winter.  They  had  played  the  piano  together, 
visited  concerts  and  recitals  together,  walked 
together  in  the  country  about  Harrow  and 
Edgtware. 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  C9 

Pictures,  in  which  Marian  came  increasingly  to 
predominate,  alternated  with  a  bleaker  panorama, 
in  which  an  historic  Ishmaelite,  becoming  daily 
more  remote  from  Mr.  Guy  Reval,  of  the  Moderator 
— how  long  ago  it  seemed  ! — rode  through  obscure 
lanes,  chilly  and  dark  in  retrospect,  to  meet  a  girl 
now  incredibly  estranged.  He  only  infrequently 
remembered  Sabina.  He  had  a  picture  of  her  now 
in  his  mind,  as  he  had  seen  her  upon  a  cold  autumn 
night  of  fine  rain  in  late  October.  In  the  ray  of 
his  bicycle  lamp,  her  hair,  glistening  with  tiny  drops 
of  moisture,  had  given  her  the  aspect  of  a  wraith. 

He  passed  Fern  Cottage  just  before  one  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  despatching  a  warm  thought  to 
where  Marian  lay  behind  the  drawn  blinds.  He 
noted  that  all  her  windows  were  wide  open,  and 
that  the  spring  air  played  fantastically  with  her 
curtains.  It  pleased  him  to  think  that  her  room 
was  fresh  with  the  breeze  which  pulled  at  his  coat. 

On  reaching  his  rooms  in  Well  Walk  he  switched 
on  the  electric  light  and  dropped  into  a  chair.  He 
was  pleasantly  tired,  but  still  disposed  to  linger 
the  night.  He  thought  of  coffee,  weighing  the 
energy  required  to  collect  the  necessary  implements 
against  the  satisfaction  of  a  pleasant  draught. 
He  looked  indolently  from  the  sideboard  to  the 
coffee  pot  on  the  mantelpiece. 

On  the  mantelpiece  was  a  letter.  There  was 
something  familiar  about  the  shape  and  colour ; 
something  which  aroused  in  him  a  settled  uneasi- 
ness which  fought  unsuccessfully  against  con- 
viction. 

H«  rose  abruptly  from  the  chair  and  took  down 


70  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

the  letter.     He  was  looking  at  the  handwriting  of 
Sabina. 

He  tore  open  the  letter  and  his  heart  sickened 
as  he  read  : — 

King's  Head. 

Abingdon, 
Guy, 

I  am  in  the  most  dreadful  trouble,  and  I  want  you 
to  come  to  me  here.  You  told  me  to  tell  you  if  any- 
thing happened.  I  cannot  explain,  but  you  must  really 
try  to  help.  Don't  fail  me,  Guy,  or  I  shall  do  some- 
thing desperate. 

SABINA. 

§  3 

So  urgent  a  cry  left  him  no  choice ;  he  must  find 
out  at  once  what  it  meant.  Clearly  something  had 
been  discovered.  He  realised  at  once  what  dis- 
covery would  mean  for  a  girl  who  had  started  at 
every  footstep  when  they  were  together,  who  had 
always  walked  with  her  eyes  wide  open  for  the 
people  who  passed,  and  who  had  often  infected 
him  with  her  own  sharp  terror. 

He  changed  rapidly  into  a  country  suit  and  put 
on  his  overalls.  In  half  an  hour  he  was  passing 
along  Watling  Street  on  the  way  to  Oxford.  Action 
was  necessary  to  his  peace  of  mind.  He  could  not 
see  Sabina  till  the  morning,  but  he  could  not  sleep 
upon  the  news  of  her  distress. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

§  i 

FOR  several  weeks  after  her  night  with  Guy  at 
Manygates,  Sabina  had  enjoyed  the  adventure 
in  retrospect.  It  took  the  place  of  the  ring  round 
her  neck  which  she  had  used  to  finger  stealthily  as 
she  sat  with  her  father  and  her  sister  in  the  kitchen. 
She  glistened  over  her  secret.  Her  fear,  in  think- 
ing of  the  risk  she  had  run,  only  added  to  her 
private  glee.  But  she  dared  not  again  encounter 
that  enormous  peril.  Dread  of  discovery  was 
perpetually  upon  her  nerves.  Her  fear  was  hardly 
a  reasoned  emotion.  It  was  a  condition  of  being. 
She  had  a  vision  of  herself  standing  as  sinners 
were  sometimes  required  to  stand  in  her  father's 
chapel,  notoriously  a  scarlet  woman,  the  text  of  a 
loud  discourse  and  subject  to  the  prayers  of  the 
faithful.  She  felt  that  at  any  moment  a  finger 
might  be  pointed  at  her  in  dreadful  accusation. 
It  became,  in  her  dream  one  night,  the  finger  of  a 
whole  congregation,  and  it  was  dreadfully  like  her 
father's  finger,  bent  at  the  nail,  deformed  with 
labour,  but  conscientiously  scrubbed.  Only  it  was 
a  hundred  times  larger. 

In  the  open  country,  more  especially  when 
twilight  had  dulled  her  sense  of  being  defenceless 
to  observation,  she  was  able,  with  Guy,  to  forget 
her  terrors  ;  but  she  always  wanted  to  be  sure 

71 


72  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

that  the  people  she  had  met  when  she  was  out 
with  Guy  were  not  people  that  she  knew,  and  when 
they  entered  an  inn  for  food  she  would  look  rapidly 
round  the  room  for  a  possible  friend,  though  the 
spot  were  never  so  unlikely. 

Her  condition  of  mind  was  the  product  of  her 
early  fear  of  her  father,  followed  by  years  in  which 
she  had  been  required  to  live  with  a  heightened 
consciousness  of  sin.  The  inflamed  virtue  of  those 
among  whom  she  lived  infected  her  with  a  kind  of 
moral  fever.  She  suffered  no  real  remorse  ;  but 
she  couldn't  help  seeing  herself  with  the  eyes  of 
her  neighbours. 

§   2 

In  November  befell  an  incident  which  prompted 
her  to  write  the  farewell  letter  which  Guy  had 
accepted  as  the  end  of  their  relationship.  One 
evening,  as  she  was  returning  from  taking  her 
cattle  to  the  water-meadow,  she  met  George 
Dudesney,  the  young  labourer  to  whom  reference 
has  already  been  made.  She  had  thought  little 
enough  about  George,  even  when  she  was  wearing 
round  her  neck  the  ring  he  had  given  her,  and  was 
permitting  him  the  minor  privileges  of  a  rustic 
courtship.  Of  late  she  had  thought  even  less. 
She  assumed  that  the  affair  between  them  in  the 
early  summer  was  as  little  to  him  as  to  her.  That  she 
should  discontinue  meeting  him,  and  that  he  should 
no  longer  ask  her  to  do  so,  seemed  entirely  natural. 

She  encountered  him  in  the  bend  of  the  road 
as  she  was  crossing  to  the  stile.  To  her  surprise 
he  put  himself  in  her  way.  He  indicated  rustically 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  78 

that  her  neglect  was  beginning  to  annoy  him.  She 
was  his  girl,  he  said,  and  he  expected  her  henceforth 
to  behave  as  such.  The  harshness  of  his  voice 
frightened  her,  and  he  used  a  word  which,  by  its 
implications,  alarmed  her  still  further.  He  signi- 
fied that  in  his  opinion  she  had  jilted  him. 

Sabina  was  appalled  by  this  unexpected  develop- 
ment. Hitherto  George  had  been  her  humble 
servant ;  she  could  think  of  nothing  to  say,  and 
stood  silent  in  the  road. 

Her  alarm  turned  to  anger  when  at  this  point 
he  attempted  to  be  familiar.  She  had  always  been 
somewhat  distant  with  him,  and  she  was  furious 
that  he  should  dare  to  affront  her.  There  was  a 
scuffle. 

Even  during  the  scuffle  Sabina's  mind  was 
obscurely  at  work  on  the  word  "  jilted."  What 
exactly  did  he  mean  by  it  ?  She  was  not  long  in 
doubt,  for  George,  suddenly  drawing  away  from 
her,  informed  her  with  emphasis  that,  if  he  were 
not  accepted,  no  one  else  should  stand  in  his  place. 
He  declared  that  either  she  should  take  back  his 
ring,  for  her  finger  this  time,  or  her  father  should 
receive  some  information  of  interest  to  all  con- 
cerned. He  produced  the  ring  from  his  pocket, 
and  informed  Sabina  that  he  had  picked  it  up 
where  they  were  standing,  and  that  on  the  occasion 
of  his  finding  it  there  had  also  been  a  motor- 
bicycle. 

Sabina  saw  the  pointing  finger  of  her  dream. 

She  allowed  the  ring  to  be  returned  to  her,  and 
went  home  from  that  interview  to  write  Guy  her 
letter  of  farewell. 


74  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

Sabina's  father  readily  accepted  George's  pro- 
posal. George  was  a  religious  man,  and  Sabina 
required  such  a  husband.  He  was  a  good  hand,  and 
shrewd  at  a  bargain.  True  he  was  a  labourer, 
but  henceforth  he  could  be  associated  with  the 
management  of  the  farm.  Immediate  preparations 
were  made  for  the  wedding. 

Sabina  shrank  from  the  approaching  marriage 
with  a  nervous  repulsion.  George  divined  her 
feeling,  and  for  the  moment  respected  it.  He 
promised  himself  to  overcome  it  in  due  and  lawful 
time. 

§  3 

A  week  or  so  before  the  wedding  Sabina  noticed 
a  curious  change  in  the  attitude  of  the  women 
of  the  chapel.  Conversations,  which  she  divined 
to  be  about  herself,  would  suddenly  cease  on  her 
arrival,  and  looks  were  bent  upon  her  which  some- 
how were  hardly  to  be  explained  as  mere  interest 
in  a  prospective  bride.  She  resented  these  furtive 
silences,  which  filled  her  with  uneasiness.  Though 
she  had  not  heard  a  single  definite  word  of  accusa- 
tion, she  instinctively  knew  that  there  was  scandal 
in  the  air. 

After  chapel  it  was  the  custom  of  the  women  to 
gather  in  a  group  on  one  side  of  the  door  and  the 
men  upon  the  other  side. 

On  the  Sunday  before  her  wedding,  as  Sabina 
was  leaving  the  chapel,  and  walking  towards  the 
women's  group,  she  distinctly  heard  her  name. 
The  whole  group  instantly  became  silent  when  they 
saw  her,  and  they  all  looked  significantly  in  her 
direction.  Sabina,  hysterical  with  the  stress  of 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  75 

the  last  weeks,  completely  lost  control  of  herself. 
She  walked  into  the  group  and  challenged  them, 
demanding  to  know  what  they  were  saying  about 
her. 

They  eyed  her  with  a  sullen  astonishment. 
One  elderly  woman  called  out  that  nobody  had 
accused  her,  and  another  with  devout  thankfulness 
declared  that  conscience  was  a  power.  At  this 
point  a  girl  who  worked  on  the  farm  at  Many- 
gates  whispered  something  to  her  companions, 
and  they  all  tittered.  Sabina  pushed  towards 
the  girl  and  confronted  her,  hotly  bidding  her  to 
be  civil. 

Some  of  the  bystanders  attempted  to  restrain 
them,  but  it  was  too  late,  and  the  altercation  began 
to  attract  the  attention  of  the  male  group  upon  the 
other  side  of  the  door.  George,  coming  over  to 
them,  wanted  to  know  what  the  disturbance 
signified. 

The  girl  who  had  provoked  Sabina  said  that  if 
George  was  content  no  one  else  had  any  right  to 
interfere.  Incidentally  she  advised  him  not  to 
ask  too  many  questions. 

George  and  Sabina  walked  away  under  the  con- 
centrated observation  of  the  congregation. 

George  inferred  that  his  neighbours  had  come  to 
know  something  about  Sabina's  recent  proceedings. 
They  evidently  thought  he  was  being  deceived. 
He  would  let  them  know  that  they  exaggerated  the 
importance  of  the  affair.  So  far  as  he  knew,  there 
had  been  nothing  serious  enough  to  gossip  about. 
He  made  a  point  later  in  the  day  of  seeking  out 
the  girl  who  had  laughed,  in  order  to  inform  her 


76  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

that  the  topic  was  not  for  discussion,  and  that  he 
knew  all  that  there  was  to  be  known. 

§  4 

He  came  from  that  interview  straight  to  Sabina, 
where  she  was  milking.  Her  face  was  turned  side- 
ways towards  the  door  on  the  flank  of  the  cow, 
and  she  knew  at  once  that  something  had  hap- 
pened. He  simply  stood  at  the  door  and  looked 
at  her.  Under  his  hard  eyes  she  stopped  her 
milking  and  stared  back  at  him. 

He  informed  Sabina  coarsely  of  a  fact  which 
had  thrown  a  new  light  on  her  relations  with  the 
man  from  Oxford.  Guy  had  been  seen  leaving  her 
room  at  Manygates.  Sabina  rose  from  her  stool, 
twisting  one  of  her  hands  upon  the  other.  She 
could  not  find  a  word  to  say.  George  shook  with 
rage  before  her  immobility  and  challenged  her  to 
deny  what  he  had  said.  When  she  still  said  nothing 
he  enquired  without  delicacy  if  he  might  soon 
expect  to  be  a  father. 

Sabina  pitifully  caught  at  the  one  shred  of 
justification  in  sight.  "  No,  George,"  she  said, 
"  I'm  not  going  to  have  a  baby — really  I'm  not." 

She  protested  that  George  had  always  known 
her  story. 

George  said  there  was  one  thing  he  had  not 
known. 

"  Does  this  make  any  difference,  George  ?  I 
mean,"  she  stammered,  "  you're  going  to  marry 
me,  aren't  you  ?  " 

George  intimated  with  a  savage  irony  that  it 
made  no  difference  at  all.  He  would  marry  her,  of 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  77 

course,  to  save  her  character.  He  was  that  kind 
of  fool. 

At  this  he  left  her,  swearing  that  all  was  over 
between  them. 

Sabina  had  only  one  thought.  She  couldn't 
face  her  father.  She  must  escape  at  once  from 
Manygates.  She  went  to  an  inn  in  Abingdon, 
where  she  had  on  several  occasions  had  tea  with 
Guy  ;  and,  that  same  night,  she  wrote  to  him  her 
letter  of  appeal. 


CHAPTER  IX 


GUY  was  delayed  on  the  road  to  Abingdon  by  a 
temporary  breakdown,  and  it  was  nearly  seven 
o'clock  in  the  morning  when  he  reached  the  inn. 
Sabina  heard  him  arrive.  She  was  already  dressed, 
and,  on  hearing  the  bicycle,  she  went  down  to  the 
inn  parlour.  She  heard  Guy  enquire  for  her  down- 
stairs and  gathered  that  the  chambermaid  was 
coming  to  inform  her.  She  stood  awkwardly  by 
the  parlour  door  till  the  maid,  catching  sight  of 
her,  retreated  and  told  Guy  to  go  up.  Sabina  went 
into  the  room  and  waited. 

Guy  came  straight  towards  her.  In  the  brief 
moment  of  his  advance  across  the  room  Guy 
realised  the  fulness  of  her  misery.  Sabina's  pretti- 
ness  depended  much  upon  her  mood  and  colour  ; 
she  could  only  show  him  to-day  a  piteous  wreck 
of  her  good  looks.  The  effect  of  her  appearance 
was  enhanced  by  the  place  in  which  he  found  her. 
The  inn  parlour  was  shabby  and  cold,  and  the 
ashes  of  yesterday's  fire  were  in  the  grate. 

"  Sabina,  dear,  what  has  happened  ?  " 

He  paused  beside  her,  taking  only  her  hand. 
The  position  seemed  beyond  the  reach  of  endear- 
ments. She  sat  down  abruptly  in  a  chair,  gripping 
him. 

"  I  have  been  alone  here  for  two  nights,  Guy." 
78 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  79 

She  was  crying,  and  could  not  recover  her 
breath.  Guy  stood  beside  her,  unable  to  say  any- 
thing. 

"  Please,  Sabina/'  he  entreated  at  last,  "  tell  me 
what  has  happened." 

It  was  some  time  before  Guy  could  master  her 
position.  She  told  him,  with  many  pauses,  of  her 
engagement  with  George  and  its  sudden  breach. 
Guy  felt,  as  she  proceeded,  that  he  was  becoming 
gradually  enmeshed  in  the  net  of  her  story,  and 
for  a  moment  he  desired  to  escape.  Then,  in 
reaction  against  an  impulse  purely  of  self-preserva- 
tion, he  had  remorseful  visions  of  Sabina,  lonely 
and  afraid,  yielding  to  hateful  necessities,  while 
he  had  obliviously  sought  fresh  pleasures  and 
interests. 

§   2 

She  told  her  story  in  the  manner  of  one  who 
only  desired  to  be  relieved  of  a  burden.  He  knew 
that  when  she  had  finished  the  responsibility  would 
be  his,  and  that  he  would  have  to  do  something. 
And  yet  she  seemed  almost  a  stranger.  Could  the 
girl  who  sat  thus,  awkwardly  picking  her  words 
and  avoiding  his  looks,  be  the  girl  who  a  few 
months  before  had  moved  him  to  the  heart  ? 

When  she  had  finished  her  tale,  she  withdrew 
her  hand,  and  they  remained  silent  awhile.  Guy 
found  his  attention  wandering  irrelevantly  from 
detail  to  detail  of  the  room.  The  carpet  under  his 
eyes  was  frayed.  He  counted  the  threads  and  tried 
to  reconstruct  the  pattern.  He  had  no  impulse 
either  to  act  or  speak  ;  his  feelings  were  too  con- 
fused. 


80  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

Sabina  suddenly  looked  up,  meeting  his  puzzled 
eyes.  Their  dubiety  awakened  in  her  at  once  a 
sense  of  her  insecurity.  She  caught  at  his  coat, 
and  almost  clung  to  him. 

"  You're  going  to  help  me,  Guy  ?  "  she  asked, 
her  voice  sharp  with  alarm. 

Guy  gently  released  himself  and  walked  to  the 
mantelpiece. 

"  Of  course  I'm  going  to  help  you,"  he  assured  her. 

"  I  can  never  go  back  to  father,"  said  Sabina. 

"  You  must  come  to  London,"  Guy  decided. 
"  I  will  find  you  something  to  do." 

Sabina's  heart  sank  curiously.  She  had  not 
deliberately  thought  of  marriage  ;  but,  now  that 
he  indicated  a  solution  which  flung  her  upon  the 
world,  she  realised  that  she  had  expected  more. 
She  had  turned  to  Guy  instinctively  for  protection. 
He  was  her  absolute  security  against  the  pointing 
finger.  She  felt  that  she  could  not  again  bear  to 
lose  sight  of  him. 

"  Don't  send  me  away,  Guy,"  she  pleaded. 

"  But,  Sabina,"  said  Guy,  "  you  will  be  quite 
all  right  in  London." 

"  Don't  send  me  away." 

"  But  what  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

"  Couldn't  we  be  married,  Guy?  "  she  asked. 

She  did  not  look  at  him.  He  measured  her  need 
of  him  by  the  extent  to  which  she  had  humbled 
herself.  He  saw  in  her  face  no  longer  the  physical 
mask  through  which  feeling  peeps  now  and  then. 
It  expressed  her  in  every  lineament,  and  its  ex- 
pressiveness gave  it  a  beauty  beyond  mere  good 
looks. 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  81 

Guy  saw  only  her  pain,  and  he  saw  it  with  the 
knowledge  that  he  alone  was  her  physician. 

"  Ought  we  to  marry,  Sabina  ?  "  It  was  all  he 
could  say  for  the  moment. 

"  Don't  you  care  for  me  any  more  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  have  never  cared  for  anyone  as  I  care  for 
you." 

He  could  not  say  less.  He  had  never  before 
touched  a  human  life  so  closely.  No  one  had  ever 
been  so  real  to  him  as  Sabina,  or  had  moved  him 
so  deeply.  And  yet  he  would  never  have  sought 
her  again  if  she  had  not  called  him. 

He  walked  restlessly  from  side  to  side  of  the 
room.  There  was  a  silence,  which  lasted  until 
Sabina  could  bear  no  longer  the  uncertain  issue. 
She  caught  at  him  as  he  passed.  The  action 
lifted  her  from  her  chair,  and  almost  brought  her 
to  her  knees. 

She  clung  to  him  in  a  panic. 

"  Guy,  I  don't  care  how  it  is,  but  let  me  stay 
with  you." 

She  continued  to  plead  intolerably,  as  though 
nothing  could  stop  her,  asking  Guy  to  remain  with 
her,  even  though  he  didn't  marry  her. 

Guy  broke  from  her  again. 

"  Let  me  think,  Sabina/    he  said 

He  went  to  the  window  and  stared  out  into  the 
road  He  never  once  thought  of  taking  Sabina 
upon  any  terms  but  marriage.  She  could  not  really 
face  the  alternative  she  had  suggested.  In  the 
closed  room  with  its  problem  wh.ch  could  not  be 
denied  or  postponed  he  again  felt  the  sensation  of 
being  trapped 

He  turned  away  from  the  window,     Sabina  was 


82  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

looking  towards  him.  Her  face  was  stained  with 
weeping.  She  had  lost  the  flush  of  her  entreaty, 
and  sat  forlorn  as  if  for  judgment.  Her  eyes 
enquired  of  him  whether  he  would  be  merciful. 

Guy  could  no  longer  endure  it. 

He  lost  all  sense  of  his  predicament  and  went 
towards  her.  A  tenderness  beyond  pity  overcame 
every  other  emotion  in  him.  He  took  her  face 
between  his  hands  and  kissed  her,  and  Sabina 
knew  that  he  had  consented.  She  collapsed  awk- 
wardly beside  him,  and  lay  there  stifling  the  com- 
punction which  at  once  rebuked  a  security  she 
had  so  hardly  won. 

§3 

They  arranged  to  be  married  within  the  lawful 
period  by  special  licence  at  Abingdon.  Sabina 
purchased  all  that  was  necessary  for  herself  out  of 
her  savings.  Guy  paid  a  hasty  visit  to  London  to 
bring  away  some  of  his  personal  effects  and  to 
raise  some  money. 

On  the  night  before  their  wedding  they  dined 
together  in  the  rooms  which  Guy  had  taken  at 
Abingdon  and  discussed  the  arrangements  for  the 
next  day.  They  tacitly  avoided  all  reference  to 
the  deeper  implications  of  the  step  they  were 
taking.  They  discussed  clothes  and  trains,  and 
petty  cash.  But  behind  all  this  was  a  persistent 
questioning  each  of  the  other  and  of  the  mind 
within.  The  breach  of  their  old  relationship  had 
left  much  that  was  unexpressed  and  unfinished 
between  them,  and  the  new  relationship  was  not 
yet  warm. 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  83 

At  last  Sabina  rose  to  go.  As  Guy  made  ready 
to  accompany  her  she  stood  by  the  open  window. 
The  warm  spring  air  blew  a  fine  spray  of  hair 
across  her  eyes.  The  street  was  quick  with  light 
and  desultory  voices.  Guy  turned  out  the  lamp, 
and  called  to  her  that  he  was  ready  ;  she  turned 
towards  him  and  his  eye  was  caught  by  the  line  of 
her  throat  and  lifted  chin  in  the  light  of  the  window. 

He  went  impulsively  to  her  and  stood  near.  It 
was  his  first  instinctive  movement  towards  her. 

She  began  to  speak,  hesitated,  and  then  said  : 
'  Try  not  to  feel  strange  with  me,  Guy." 

"  I  suppose  everybody  feels  strange,"  Guy 
answered. 

They  stood  together,  almost  content,  by  the 
window.  A  couple  walked  beneath  them,  and, 
unaware  that  they  were  overlooked,  paused  in  the 
street  a  moment  and  kissed.  Guy  and  Sabina 
looked  at  one  another  and  smiled,  each  remember- 
ing how  they  had  often  kissed  in  just  that  passing 
way.  The  incident  coloured  their  thoughts  as 
they  walked  home,  and  that  night  Guy,  for  the 
first  moment  since  he  had  decided  to  marry  Sabina, 
had  only  half  an  eye  for  the  life  in  London  out  of 
which  he  had  been  called  to  this  other  world  of 
cheap  lodgings  and  registrars  and  luggage  labels. 
The  future  was  kinder  now  and  less  mysterious. 

§  4 

The  next  morning  Guy  and  Sabina  were  lost  in 
the  formalities  of  their  official  marriage,  the  paying 
of  bills,  and  the  fluster  of  a  late  dash  for  the  train. 
They  were  going  to  Lynmouth  in  Devonshire. 


84  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

During  the  long  hours  of  the  journey,  Guy,  who 
was  a  bad  traveller,  and  Sabina,  who  had  never 
travelled  at  all,  were  largely  taken  up  with  the 
mere  adventure  of  proceeding  from  one  place  to 
another.  They  were  not  alone  in  their  carriage, 
and  had  no  chance  for  conversation.  Guy  looked 
at  the  girl  who  had  become  his  wife  almost  with  a 
kind  of  astonishment.  He  was  married.  That 
girl  with  the  pale  face  and  brilliant  eyes,  who  lay 
back  in  the  opposite  corner  of  the  carriage,  was 
now  intimately  his  before  the  whole  world.  Aunt 
Helen  and  Theodore  and  Marian  would  know  about 
it.  They  who  had  loved  in  the  quiet  lanes  and 
woods,  and  had  been  so  grateful  for  the  darkness 
which  had  made  them  safe,  were  on  their  way  to 
a  hotel  where  they  would  go  openly  to  the  same 
room  and  remain  together.  The  contrast  brought 
back  to  Guy,  more  vividly  than  the  incident  of 
the  night  before,  their  love  of  the  previous  year  ; 
and  more  and  more  often  as  he  looked  towards 
Sabina  he  became  involved  in  the  old  emotions. 
His  sense  of  her  beauty  returned  and  became  the 
intense  preception  of  the  lover  confronted  with  a 
baffling  perfection. 

Recovering  the  sense  of  her  beauty  he  began  to 
realise  more  intimately  what  she  must  have 
suffered.  She  turned  to  him  occasionally  with  a 
questioning  look,  almost  intolerable,  as  of  someone 
utterly  dependent  and  wondering  whether  she  was 
really  secure  at  last.  He  remembered  portions  of 
her  story.  She  had  contemplated  marriage  with 
a  fellow  whose  conduct  sufficiently  declared  his 
grossness.  This  grossness  was  accentuated  in 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  85 

Guy's  mind  by  contrast  with  the  fragility  of  the 
intended  victim,  and  by  his  memory,  now  thor- 
oughly restored,  of  her  abnormal  sensibility.  Had 
they  been  alone  he  must,  on  interrupting  one  of 
her  questioning  looks,  have  taken  her  in  his  arms, 
obeying  an  impulse  in  which  many  different 
feelings  met  and  reinforced  one  another. 

§  5 

They  arrived  at  Lynmouth  late  in  the  evening. 
Guy  took  only  one  brief  glance  at  their  room  and 
came  downstairs  to  order  dinner. 

After  dinner  they  rambled  for  a  while  up  the 
valley  and  sat  where  the  river  broke  into  rapids, 
and  the  wooded  hills  narrowed  upon  the  water. 
It  was  the  first  time  they  had  been  alone  since  the 
previous  evening,  and  for  a  long  while  they  were 
silent. 

"  It's  beautiful  here,  Guy,"  said  Sabina  at 
last. 

Guy,  who  had  been  looking  at  her  face,  slightly 
upraised,  so  that  she  could  see  the  sharp  line  of 
the  trees  against  the  sky,  turned  to  inspect  the 
landscape.  It  was  rather  like  a  stage  setting. 
There  were  rocks  and  a  cascade  and  an  absurdly 
round  moon  coming  up  over  the  opposite  hill. 
There  was  even  a  nightingale,  and  the  last  house 
in  the  valley  was  thatched  and  displayed  a  garden 
of  hollyhocks  and  roses. 

He  did  not  answer  Sabina,  but  took  her  hand, 
drawn  to  her  rather  than  estranged  by  her  simple 
delight.  For  something  to  say,  and  because  he 
was  so  sensitive  now  to  the  least  impression  she 


86  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

made  on  him,  he  remarked  upon  the  smoothness 
of  her  hand. 

"  I  haven't  done  any  work  for  a  fortnight,"  she 
said. 

Shortly  after  they  walked  back  to  the  hotel  and 
Sabina  went  upstairs. 

Guy  played  awhile  on  the  hotel  piano.  The 
drawing  room  was  empty,  and  the  piano  was  good. 
He  played  because  he  was  unable  to  be  idle.  At 
one  moment  he  felt  as  though  he  had  challenged 
the  world  ;  then  he  felt  rather  like  a  schoolboy 
doing  something  of  which  he  knew  the  authorities 
would  disapprove.  The  authorities,  however,  were 
all  in  London,  and  this  was  Devonshire.  It  was 
odd  to  think  of  Aunt  Helen  and  Marian  sitting 
now  in  the  drawing  room  at  Fern  Cottage.  He 
was  playing  a  gavotte  by  Bach,  a  favourite  with 
Marian.  He  got  up  restlessly  and  shut  the  piano. 
Somehow  this  all  seemed  unreal,  and  he  could  not 
quite  believe  it.  He  would  not  have  been  surprised 
if  Aunt  Helen  had  suddenly  walked  into  the  room 
and  wanted  to  know  what  on  earth  he  was  doing, 
standing  there  alone  as  though  he  were  waiting 
for  something. 

§6 

Sabina  was  sitting  by  the  window  of  their  room 
when  he  went  upstairs.  The  moon,  less  absurd 
now  that  it  had  fully  risen,  was  shining  hard,  and 
there  was  no  other  light.  Guy  went  and  sat  near 
her.  By  the  side  of  the  hotel  a  stream  fell  noisily 
from  the  hill  to  meet  the  river. 

Guy  felt  Sabina 's  hand  upon  his  sleeve,  and 
turned  to  her. 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  87 

"  Guy,  dear,  what  are  you  thinking  of  ?  " 

Her  eyes  had  the  questioning  look  which  he 
hated  to  see,  and  the  impulse  to  take  her  into  his 
arms,  which  he  had  previously  been  compelled  to 
check,  overpowered  him.  For  a  while  they  clung 
together. 

She  pressed  close  to  him,  hurting  herself  against 
the  roughness  of  his  coat ;  then  he  felt  her  tension 
relax  and  she  allowed  herself  simply  to  be  held. 

"  I  feel  so  safe,"  she  said  at  last.  "  It's  like 
going  to  sleep  in  the  morning  when  you've  had  a 
nightmare,  and  you  daren't  shut  your  eyes  in  the 
dark.  The  light  begins  to  come  into  the  room, 
and  you  needn't  watch  any  more." 

She  went  on  again  after  a  while  :  "  I'm  an  awful 
coward,  Guy.  Do  you  remember  how  frightened 
I  was  when  we  used  to  be  together.  I  could  never 
love  you  properly  ;  I  could  never  forget  that  some- 
thing dreadful  might  happen  at  any  moment. 
You  used  to  be  quite  angry  with  me  sometimes." 

She  was  silent  a  while,  and  then  added  suddenly  : 
"  I  wish  we  were  together  to-night  for  the  first 
time." 

"Why,  dear?  " 

"  It  would  mean  so  much  more  to  you  if  it  were 
the  first  time." 


Hours  later  Guy  was  awake  and  looking  at 
Sabina.  She  had  about  her  the  warm  charm  of 
a  happy  sleeper  whose  senses  are  drawing  deeply 
upon  nature  for  refreshment  and  renewal.  She 
had  revealed  herself  to  him  as  never  before.  For 


88  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

the  first  time,  without  one  thought  aside,  she  had 
lived  only  in  the  moment,  and  she  had  loved  him 
with  a  kind  of  desperation.  There  was  in  her  love 
a  jealousy  of  the  past  and  of  the  future  ;  of  all 
that  had  been,  or  might  be  again. 


BOOK  II. 


CHAPTER  I 

§  i 

ABOUT  a  fortnight  after  their  arrival  in  Lyn- 
mouth  Guy  sat  with  Sabina  upon  a  narrow 
beach  under  Exmoor.  It  was  a  favourite  spot. 
It  could  be  reached  only  by  a  long  path  which 
angled  interminably  down  the  side  of  the  cliff. 
Here  they  could  bathe  and  lie  in  the  sun,  secure 
in  the  knowledge  that  the  only  possible  intruders 
could  be  seen  at  least  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before 
they  arrived.  To  people  on  the  moors  they  were 
invisible. 

Sabina,  who  had  never  seen  the  sea  before  she 
came  to  this  beach,  could  never  be  drawn  away 
until  she  became  too  hungry  to  stay  any  longer. 
Guy  was  undoing  a  basket  in  which  their  lunch 
was  packed.  Sabina  sat  beside  him  hugging  her 
bare  knees,  looking  out  to  sea  where  a  steamer  was 
disappearing  over  the  edge  of  the  water.  She  was 
finishing  an  apple.  "  Give  me  another,  Guy,"  she 
said,  when  her  mouth  was  empty. 

"  The  fourth,"  said  Guy,  throwing  her  one. 

"  I  love  apples,  especially  after  a  bathe.  I 
could  eat  pounds." 

"  How  many  pounds  ?  " 

"  Three  pounds.  I  wonder  where  that  steamer 
is  going  ?  I  should  love  to  go  in  a  steamer." 

"  Where  would  you  go  ?  " 

91  a 


92  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

"  I  should  go  everywhere,  just  once,  to  see  what 
it  was  like.  And  then  I  should  come  home  and 
have  a  house  up  on  the  cliff  with  large  bay  windows. 
We  would  bathe  every  morning,  and  in  the  evening 
we  would  go  to  Lynmouth,  and  you  should  take 
me  to  the  pictures  or  to  have  dinner  at  a  table 
d'hote.  I  love  table  d'hote.  Shall  I  tell  you  some- 
thing, Guy  ?  " 

"  You're  always  telling  me  something." 

"  I  was  awfully  afraid  of  table  d'hote  at  first. 
It's  really  a  bit  awkward,  having  to  dig  into  a  dish 
which  a  person  is  holding  in  one  hand.  And  when 
the  lobster  came  I  didn't  know  what  to  do.  So  I 
didn't  have  any.  I  was  most  annoyed  when  I 
saw  you  take  a  claw  in  your  fingers.  I  love 
lobster." 

Guy  was  unwrapping  various  parcels  and  spread- 
ing their  contents  upon  a  flat  rock  half  submerged 
in  the  sand.  "  Go  on  talking,"  he  said. 

"  Now  you're  sarcastic,"  protested  Sabina. 

"I'm  not  sarcastic,"  said  Guy.  "  I  like  you  to 
go  on  talking.  You  never  talked  before  we  were 
married." 

"  I  feel  different  now.  I  want  you  to  know 
everything  about  me." 

"  I'm  glad  you  don't  really  dislike  lobster,"  said 
Guy.  "  It  would  worry  me  if  you  did." 

"  Do  you  remember  how  we  used  to  quarrel 
before  we  were  married  ?  "  asked  Sabina. 

"  Sometimes." 

"  We  quarrelled  about  nothing  at  all.  Do 
you  remember  how  we  quarrelled  once  about 
beer  ?  " 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  98 

Guy  remembered  it  very  well,  and  for  a  while 
Sabina  was  silent. 

"  I  hope  they've  put  some  beer  in  the  basket," 
she  added  suddenly. 

"  Here  it  is,"  said  Guy. 

"  We  shall  never  quarrel  again,"  said  Sabina. 
"  Never.  Do  you  think  we  shall,  Guy  ?  " 

"  Sometimes,  perhaps,"  said  Guy.  "  Just  for 
fun." 

"  We  nearly  quarrelled  yesterday,  didn't  we, 
Guy  ?  Do  you  remember  ?  " 

"I'm  not  going  to  remember." 

"  I've  come  to  the  conclusion  that  you  were 
right,"  Sabina  continued  rather  more  seriously. 
"  I  don't  think  evening  dress  is  really  immodest, 
not  when  you  come  to  consider.  It  depends  on 
how  you've  been  brought  up,  I  suppose.  Do  you 
know  what  I  was  doing  this  morning  while  you  were 
waiting  for  me  ?  " 

"  Haven't  the  faintest  idea." 

"  Well,  you  know  the  pink  silk  ?  " 

"  I  do.     It's  the  one  with  the  hooks  and  eyes." 

"  Well,  I've  turned  the  pink  silk  into  an  evening 
blouse,  Guy.  Short  sleeves  and  quite  low-neck." 

"  Good,"  said  Guy,  pouring  himself  out  a  glass 
of  beer.  "  Here's  to  the  pink  silk." 

Sabina  drank  a  glass  of  beer  at  a  single  draught, 
and  Guy  kissed  her  as  she  gasped  for  breath.  Her 
cheek  was  salt  with  the  sea. 

After  lunch  they  sat  in  the  sunlight,  till  Sabina 
said  she  would  bathe  again.  Guy  protested  that 
nothing  would  induce  him  to  move  from  his  hollow 
in  the  sand  ;  but,  later,  when  she  came  to  him 


94  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

out  of  the  water,  dripping  and  breathless,  and 
glistened  beside  him  on  the  warm  beach,  he  changed 
his  mind. 

They  remained  on  the  beach  till  after  tea,  which 
they  made  for  themselves.  After  tea  they 
clambered  up  the  side  of  the  cliff  and  walked 
slowly  to  Lynmouth,  with  frequent  pauses  to  look 
down  at  the  sea  or  away  to  the  coloured  crests  and 
hollows  of  the  moor. 

"  I  love  the  sea,"  said  Sabina ;  "I  shall  always 
want  it  after  this."  They  were  in  the  act  of  turning 
for  the  last  time  to  go  down  into  the  valley.  "  The 
sea  makes  a  person  feel  able  to  breathe,"  she 
continued.  "  I  feel  now  as  if  all  the  other  time 
I'd  been  living  in  a  box.  I  shan't  want  to  leave 
this  place." 

"  Why  talk  about  leaving  ?  "  Guy  asked 
"  We've  got  lots  of  things  to  do  before  we  leave.' 

"  What  shall  we  do  to-night,  Guy  ?  " 

"  We're  going  to  wear  the  pink  silk." 

"  Is  that  all  ?     Let's  do  something  extravagant." 

"  Champagne  ?  "  Guy  suggested. 

"  What  is  champagne  like,  Guy  ?  " 

"  My  darling,  it's  impossible  to  say.  You've 
either  had  champagne  or  you  haven't." 

§   2 

Guy,  having  fastened  Sabina  into  the  pink  silk, 
came  down  to  the  dining  room  a  little  in  advance, 
and  looked  for  the  wine  waiter.  The  wine  waiter 
was  busily  engaged  with  a  man  in  the  far  corner. 
The  man  in  question  was  long  in  choosing  his 
wine,  but  the  waiter  was  not  impatient,  for  this 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  95 

was  a  gentleman  who  knew  his  business,  and  was 
not  merely  fumbling  with  a  wine-list.  Guy  looked 
more  particularly  at  the  man  who  thus  demon- 
strated his  superiority  to  the  common  run  of  eaters 
and  drinkers. 

He  realised  with  a  shock  that  the  man  in  question 
was  Powicke. 

He  decided  at  once  to  escape  and  warn  Sabina, 
who  would  be  nervous  upon  a  first  meeting  with 
one  of  his  friends.  He  rose  to  slip  from  the  room,  but 
at  this  moment  Powicke  looked  up  and  saw  him. 

Powicke  was  clearly  only  less  astonished  than 
disgusted. 

"  I  didn't  expect  to  find  you  here,"  said  Guy  at 
last. 

"  You  may  continue  to  stay  at  this  hotel,"  Powicke 
unexpectedly  answered.  "  But  you  mustn't  know 
me.  It's  uncomfortable.  But  the  cat  is  already 
out  and  about.  Everybody  in  London  knows, 
except  Dad  and  the  family  lawyer.  And  Dolly 
will  probably  tell  them  herself.  She  tells  every- 
body. Go  back  to  your  solitary  dinner,  Guy,  and 
ignore  your  friend  for  th'e  rest  of  the  evening. 
And  please  turn  your  chair  to  the  wall.  I  hate  her 
to  be  looking  at  another  man  when  she's  talking 
to  me." 

Guy  was  too  full  of  his  own  affairs  to  see  much 
significance  in  all  this.  As  usual  Powicke  was 
talking  nonsense. 

"  Arthur,"  he  said,  "  stop  talking  like  an  idiot 
and  listen.  I'm  not  alone." 

Powicke  stared  a  moment,  and  was  then  ir- 
radiated with  smiles.  Before,  however,  he  could 


96  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

answer,  a  woman  entered  the  room.  Guy  thought 
he  had  never  seen  anybody  so  expensive. 

"  Hullo,"  she  said  at  once,  "  Arthur's  found  a 
friend." 

"  Dolly,"  said  Powicke,  "  it's  a  foursome.  Tell 
me  what  to  do." 

"  Well  here  we  are,  I  suppose,"  said  Dolly. 

"  Why  not  just  be  sociable  ?  "  she  added  after  a 
pause,  during  which  she  had  carefully  inspected  Guy. 

At  this  moment  Sabina  entered  the  room,  and 
they  all  turned  to  look  at  her.  Guy  had  not  yet 
recovered  his  presence  of  mind,  or  formed  any 
clear  idea  of  his  friend's  position.  Powicke  had 
said  something  about  Dad  and  the  family  lawyer, 
and  here  he  was  with  a  sumptuous  young  woman 
honeymooning  in  a  West  Country  hotel.  Ap- 
parently Powicke  had  caught  the  social  epidemic 
which  had  reached  its  height  just  at  that  time — 
he  had  married  somebody  rather  bright. 

Sabina  bravely  advanced  to  meet  them.  She 
had  never  seen  anyone  to  compare  with  the 
resplendent  lady  in  front  of  her.  This  was  one  of 
Guy's  superior  friends.  She  called  up  her  courage. 

"Won't  you  introduce  us,  Guy?"  she  said 
timidly,  as  she  arrived  in  the  circle. 

"  What's  in  a  name  ?  "  said  Dolly,  cheerfully. 
"  Bad  habit  to  throw  names  about." 

Here  the  waiter  intervened. 

"  Table  for  four?  "  he  suggested. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  Dolly. 

Guy  was  heard  introducing  his  wife  to  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Arthur  Powicke.  Dolly  looked  at  Sabina 
with  some  disdain.  She  had  decided  that  Sabina 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  07 

was  pretty.  But  where  on  earth  had  she  bought 
her  clothes  ?  Dolly  did  not  like  a  woman  who 
wore  less  than  fifty  guineas.  Besides,  this  was 
obviously  one  of  those  country  mice  who  affected 
a  demure  habit  in  order  to  make  themselves  per- 
versely attractive.  She  thought  it  was  bad  taste 
to  play  the  wife  on  these  occasions. 

Powicke  disliked  the  look  of  Guy's  affair  alto- 
gether. Sabina  seemed  rather  a  nice  girl,  and 
there  was  something  forlorn  about  her.  Somehow 
it  seemed  a  shame.  And  in  any  case  it  was  rough 
on  Marian,  to  whom  Guy  was  virtually  engaged. 
Anyhow  there  they  all  were.  It  was  six  of  one 
and  six  of  the  other,  and  it  was  no  use  thinking 
about  it. 

There  was  a  slight  hesitation  as  they  all  four 
stood  beside  the  table,  which  the  waiter  was  now 
arranging  for  four. 

"Do  we  cut  for  partners  or  what  ?  "  said 
Dolly,  who  somehow  felt  bound  to  lighten  the 
atmosphere.  She  called  them  impatiently  to  the 
oysters,  and  they  sat  down.  Guy  was  inwardly 
blaming  his  friend  for  having  married  a  chorus 
girl.  Powicke  was  secretly  wondering  how  an 
engaged  bachelor  came  to  be  spending  the  week- 
end with  a  girl  who  was  not  at  all  his  idea  of  that 
sort  of  a  girl.  Sabina  was  hoping  that  table  d'hote 
would  not  be  too  much  for  her  this  evening,  and 
that  she  would  make  a  favourable  impression  on 
the  great  lady  who  did  not  approve  of  introductions. 
Dolly  had  decided  that  the  only  salvation  of  the 
evening  lay  in  large  quantities  of  champagne. 

Sabina   had   never   eaten   oysters   before,   and, 


98  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

having  put  one  into  her  mouth,  was  confronted 
with  a  painful  situation.  She  swallowed  it  with 
difficulty,  and  knew  there  would  be  yet  more 
difficulty  about  swallowing  another.  And  there 
were  five  confronting  her.  She  looked  across 
towards  the  great  lady.  The  great  lady  had  eaten 
six,  and  was  beckoning  imperiously  for  a  further 
supply.  Sabina  felt  that  it  was  somehow  dis- 
graceful to  dislike  oysters.  She  was  sure  that  none 
of  the  best  people  disliked  them.  She  supposed 
that  oysters  were  an  acquired  taste,  and  that  not 
to  have  acquired  it  was  a  mark  of  social  inferiority. 

She  put  another  oyster  into  her  mouth.  For 
several  miserable  moments  she  struggled  to  deal 
with  it.  Finally,  with  a  tremendous  effort,  she 
induced  it  to  join  its  predecessor.  In  that  moment 
she  knew  that  not  to  save  her  life  would  she  be 
able  to  swallow  another.  She  ate  brown  bread 
and  butter  with  an  air  of  enjoying  it  so  well  that 
the  oysters  would  have  to  wait. 

"  We  must  have  lots  of  oysters,"  said  Powicke 
suddenly. 

"  By  general  request  ?  "  he  enquired,  looking 
round  the  flowers  at  Sabina's  plate. 

Sabina  flushed  and  stammered  :  "  Not  for  me. 
Thank  you  very  much." 

"  Don't  you  like  them  ?  "  Powicke  asked. 

"  I  don't  think  I  do,"  said  Sabina.  "  At  least, 
not  to-night,"  she  added  hastily. 

"How  funny!"  said  Dolly,  who  had  already 
eaten  a  dozen.  "  To  like  oysters  on  Monday  and 
not  to  like  them  on  Tuesday." 

Guy  came  hastily  to  the  rescue. 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  99 

"  Varium  et  mutabile  semper  femina,"  he  quoted. 

"  What's  that  mean  ?  "  said  Dolly.  "Is  it 
something  nice  about  your  young  friend,  or  some- 
thing nasty  about  me  ?  " 

The  arrival  of  the  champagne  deflected  her  train 
of  thought. 

Sabina  was  a  little  afraid  of  the  champagne. 
Would  it  be  as  difficult  as  the  oysters  ?  To  her 
great  joy  the  waiter  had  quietly  removed  her  four 
remaining  ones.  Her  heart  misgave  her  as  she 
raised  her  glass. 

"  Here's  luck,"  said  Dolly  cheerfully.  She 
touched  glasses  with  Arthur,  and  Sabina  realised 
that  she  also  was  expected  to  touch  glasses.  With 
an  excited  feeling  that  she  was  acquiring  the 
etiquette  of  the  great  world,  she  touched  with 
Dolly  and  with  Guy,  and,  feeling  even  more 
privileged,  touched  also  with  Mr.  Powicke.  The 
next  moment  she  became  sweetly  aware  that 
champagne  was  not  difficult  to  swallow. 

"  Seems  rather  a  quiet  place,"  said  Dolly, 
looking  out  of  the  window. 

A  few  people  were  standing  on  a  little  bridge 
over  the  rapids.  There  were  not  more  than  a  dozen 
persons  in  the  dining  room,  and  the  sound  of  their 
voices  was  covered  by  the  noise  of  the  water. 

"  The  country  here  is  beautiful,"  said  Sabina. 

Arthur  looked  at  this  increasingly  enigmatic 
girl  who  thought  the  country  was  beautiful. 

§  3 

An  alarming  idea  had  begun  to  intrude.  Guy 
had  introduced  the  girl  as  his  wife.  Suppose  it 


100  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

were  true.  Suppose  he  had  really  been  introduced 
to  Mrs.  Guy  Reval  ? 

"  Scenery's  no  good  to  me  at  all,"  said  Dolly. 
"  But  Arthur  insisted  upon  coming  here.  Arthur 
first  saw  me  when  I  was  a  Diving  Belle,  and  he 
can't  forget  it.  He's  going  to  take  me  to  a  wonder- 
ful beach  to-morrow  where  I  can  be  a  Diving  Belle 
all  the  morning." 

"  That  must  be  our  beach,"  said  Sabina. 

She  was  wondering  on  what  kind  of  social 
occasion  a  great  lady  might  appear  as  a  Diving 
Belle. 

"  I  shan't  mind  a  crowd  in  the  least,"  said  Dolly. 
"  I'm  used  to  it." 

By  this  time  Guy  also  had  begun  to  feel  uneasy. 
His  ideas  progressed  with  difficulty.  He  was 
asking  himself  whether  Powicke  had  or  had  not 
said  he  was  a  married  man.  He  could  not  re- 
member. Dolly  was  fast  becoming  incredible  as 
Mrs.  Powicke.  She  had  looked  at  him  once  or 
twice  in  quite  a  special  way.  He  collected 
himself. 

"  It's  my  beach,  Arthur,"  he  said.  "  We  can't 
share  it  with  anybody,  can  we  ?  "  he  continued, 
turning  to  Sabina. 

"  It's  a  nice  beach,"  said  Sabina.  The  cham- 
pagne was  already  having  some  effect  on  her,  and 
she  felt  a  strange  need  to  be  confidential. 

"  I  think  the  sea  is  lovely,"  she  added. 

At  this  moment  she  intercepted  one  of  those 
special  glances  which  Dolly  from  time  to  time  was 
directing  towards  her  husband.  The  look  raised 
in  her  a  slight  uneasiness.  Hitherto  she  had 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  101 

attributed  the  great  lady's  way  of  speaking  to  a 
carelessness,  or  possibly  even  a  corruption,  natural 
in  the  higher  levels  of  society.  Sabina  now  began 
to  feel  unaccountably  hostile.  At  this  moment, 
however,  she  was  distracted  by  the  arrival  of  the 
waiter,  who  was  at  her  elbow  handing  vegetables. 
There  was  a  short  silence. 

"  Been  here  long  ?  "  said  Arthur,  whose  wits 
were  now  thoroughly  about  him. 

Sabina  turned  to  him  all  the  more  readily,  owing 
to  an  unmistakable  chill  which  had  come  into  the 
air. 

"  Only  a  few  days,"  she  said. 

"  And  you  really  like  the  place  ?  " 

"  I  love  it,"  said  Sabina.  "  But  I  suppose  any 
place  would  do.  You  see  it's  our  first  holiday 
together,  and  I've  never  had  a  holiday  like  this 
before." 

This  speech  strangely  excited  Dolly,  who  had 
just  emptied  her  fourth  glass  of  champagne. 

"  The  little  white  lamb !  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  She'll  be  telling  us  next  that  her  father  was  an 
archdeacon." 

Sabina  turned  to  her  in  amazement. 

"  Why  should  I  say  that  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  It's  a  joke,"  said  Powicke,  intervening  hastily. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  said  Sabina,  flushing.  "  I  suppose 
I'm  stupid." 

She  paused,  a  little  confused  with  the  wine  and 
the  strange  feeling  that  something  was  wrong. 
Powicke  thought  she  might  be  going  to  cry,  not 
knowing  how  easily  the  small  quiver  came  to  h«r 
lips. 


102  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

"  It's  a  sort  of  family  joke  which  you  needn't 
trouble  to  understand,"  he  explained. 

He  exchanged  glances  with  Guy.  The  two  men 
now  realised  the  position.  It  was  one  without  pre- 
cedent, and  neither  of  them  knew  what  to  do. 
For  Sabina  it  would  be  clearly  disconcerting  to 
discover  that  she  had  been  so  grossly  mistaken, 
and  they  both  instinctively  desired  to  protect  her. 
Meanwhile  Dolly  was  still  drinking  champagne,  and 
it  was  becoming  more  and  more  impossible  to  live 
up  to  Sabina's  conception  of  her  social  position. 
Powicke,  who  remembered  that  Dolly  in  her  cups 
was  quarrelsome,  saw  himself  very  shortly  explain- 
ing things  to  Mrs.  Reval. 

"  You  see,  I  thought  we  were  all  in  the  same 
boat,"  he  imagined  himself  saying.  "  I  hadn't 
the  least  idea  you  were  really  married  to  your 
husband." 

It  did  not  seem  a  very  happy  explanation. 

The  waiter  again  came  to  the  rescue. 

"Asparagus  !  "  Powicke  exclaimed,  with  immense 
heartiness.  "  They  are  doing  us  particularly  well 
here." 

"  I  love  table  d'hote,"  said  Sabina  over  the  brim 
of  her  glass.  "  You  never  know  what's  coming 
next." 

"  The  asparagus  is  just  right,"  said  Guy. 

"  I  can't  fiddle  with  that  stuff,"  said  Dolly. 
"  It's  like  trying  to  pick  a  ham  bone  hanging  at 
the  end  of  a  string  with  your  hands  tied." 

1  What  a  funny  thing  to  do,"  laughed  Sabina. 

"  It's  not  done  in  the  best  circles,  I  understand," 
said  Dolly,  falsetto. 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  108 

Sabina  flushed  under  a  sense  that  offence  was 
intended,  though  she  did  not  know  how  or  why 
it  should  be. 

"  I  once  tried  to  eat  an  apple  that  way,"  said 
Powicke,  breezily. 

"  And  what  happened  ?  "  Guy  asked,  casting 
about  for  an  excuse  to  break  up  the  party. 

"  I  lost  the  bet,"  said  Powicke. 

"That  was  very  wrong  of  you,"  said  Dolly,  with 
a  horrible  gravity.  '  What  would  the  archdeacon 
say?  " 

Dolly,  having  passed  the  asparagus,  was  playing 
with  a  rose,  which  she  had  taken  from  her  waist. 
After  coquettishly  nibbling  the  stalk,  she  leaned 
across  the  table  and  began  to  draw  imaginary  lines 
with  the  bitten  end  of  it  upon  either  side  of  Guy's 
nose.  She  paused  for  a  moment  in  this  pastime, 
and  looked  pointedly  at  Sabina. 

Sabina,  still  in  the  grip  of  her  original  miscon- 
ception, looked  speechlessly  towards  her  inter- 
locutor, and  answered  with  a  quiver  : 

"  I  don't  understand." 

Dolly  looked  resentfully  at  Powicke,  whose 
evident  wish  to  protect  Sabina  annoyed  her. 

"  Arthur,"  she  said,  "  explain  to  the  lady?  " 

"  Same  old  family  joke,"  said  Powicke  miserably. 

"  But  not  in  my  family,"  said  Dolly,  now  a 
little  uncertain  of  her  utterance.  "  There's  never 
been  an  archdeacon  in  my  family." 

§4 

Her  own  glass  being  empty,  she  reached  across 
and  took  the  glass  belonging  to  Guy.  On  drinking 


104  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

she  looked  at  him  over  the  rim  in  a  way  that  Sabina 
could  no  longer  mistake.  It  illumined  the  whole 
situation.  Her  instinct  leaped  at  the  relationship 
between  Powicke  and  the  woman  confronting  her, 
and  in  a  moment  she  perceived  the  absurdity  of 
her  former  delusion. 

The  room  swayed  for  a  moment  about  her. 

There  seemed  to  be  nothing  at  which  to  catch 
for  safety.  She  rose  from  her  chair. 

It  appeared  as  though  she  had  been  the  object 
of  an  intentional  humiliation  ;  but  jealousy  came 
first.  She  had  never  felt  it  before.  It  was  like 
a  physical  pain. 

"  How  dare  you  look  at  my  husband  like  that  ?  " 
she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Sabina,  dear,"  said  Guy,  rising  at  once. 
"  There  has  been  a  mistake.  We  mustn't  make  a 
scene." 

"  Scene  ?  "  said  Dolly  contemptuously.  "  Do 
you  call  this  a  scene  ?  " 

Sabina's  jealousy  had  flared  itself  out.  She  saw 
now  only  that  she  had  been  allowed  to  associate 
on  equal  terms  with  a  light  woman.  Without  a 
word  she  turned  to  go.  Guy  moved  towards  her  ; 
but  she  went  blindly  out  of  the  room.  It  all 
happened  so  quickly  that  none  of  the  people  at  the 
other  tables  noticed  anything  unusual. 

Dolly,  who  was  about  to  demonstrate  what  a 
scene  was  really  like,  looked  in  amazement  after 
Sabina  as  she  went  out.  Turning  to  Powicke  she 
saw  that  he  was  looking  at  Guy,  and  that  both 
of  them  were  really  upset. 

"  Sorry,  Guy,"  Powicke  was  saying.     "  You'd 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  105 

better  go  and  clean  up  the  mess.  I  shan't  be 
here  to-morrow." 

"  What's  all  this  about  ?  "  said  Dolly. 

Powicke  explained  it  to  her,  while  Guy  was  on 
his  way  upstairs,  but  Dolly  was  not  impressed. 
Her  view,  put  with  some  asperity,  was  that  the  girl 
ought  not  to  have  married  the  young  man,  and  that 
worse  things  would  happen  to  them  than  dinner 
with  a  Diving  Belle.  Arthur  thought  anxiously 
about  his  friend  for  quite  five  minutes.  Then  he 
ordered  some  more  champagne  and  decided  that 
it  was  a  man's  first  duty,  in  this  complicated  world, 
to  manage  his  own  affairs. 

§  5 

Guy  found  Sabina  stretched  on  the  bed,  wildly 
lamenting.  She  rejected  all  his  attempts  to  com- 
fort her,  and  he  was  at  last  reduced  to  sitting 
foolishly  beside  her  while  she  afflicted  herself  by 
dwelling  on  all  the  implications.  She  talked 
between  fits  of  sobbing  and  then  relapsed,  only  to 
take  up  the  burden  again  when  she  was  sufficiently 
recovered.  She  saw  the  incident  from  the  outside, 
and  her  own  share  in  it  as  something  dramatically 
pitiful.  She  was  sometimes  strangely  clear  in  her 
perception  of  the  significance  of  the  things  which 
happened  to  her.  This  clarity  (as  of  a  spectator 
seeing  things  at  a  distance)  added  poignantly  to  her 
capacity  for  self -distress. 

"  Why  didn't  you  warn  me,  Guy  ?  You  must 
have  known." 

"  It  was  quite  a  natural  mistake,  dear.  I 
didn't  know  myself  till  the  end." 


106  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

"  What  must  your  friend  have  thought  ?  "  she 
burst  out  afresh.  "  He  must  have  thought  I  was 
the  same  as  her.  You  oughtn't  to  have  allowed 
it,  Guy — letting  me  sit  down  with  a  person  like 
that." 

Her  wounded  gentility  smarted  under  the  lash. 

"  I'll  never  forgive  you,  Guy.  You  ought  to 
have  told  me  at  once.  It  was  cruel." 

There  was  another  pause. 

"  I  can  never  face  any  of  your  friends  after  this," 
she  cried. 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Guy.  "  Sabina,  darling,  do  be 
reasonable." 

"  How  can  I  possibly  meet  them  ?  The  story 
will  be  everywhere." 

"  Sabina,  dear,  Arthur  won't  say  a  word." 

"  It's  too  good  a  story  to  lose." 

"  Sabina,"  said  Guy  almost  angrily,  "  don't 
torment  yourself  in  this  way.  Nothing  at  all  has 
happened  really." 

But  Sabina  in  her  heart  knew  better ;  and,  of 
the  two,  she  was  perhaps  the  wiser.  For  the  first 
time  the  problem  of  their  misalliance  had  intruded. 
It  had  intruded  suddenly  and  absurdly,  but  it 
could  not  be  laughed  away. 

Guy,  as  he  argued  against  his  wife's  distress,  felt 
the  presence  of  something  intricately  disconcerting. 
Meanwhile  he  praised  and  comforted  her.  He 
reminded  her  how  his  friend  had  liked  her,  and 
evidently  wished  to  protect  her  when  the  position 
had  become  clear.  He  pointed  out  that  he,  too, 
had  been  mistaken. 

Finally,  Sabina  allowed  herself,  exhausted  with 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  107 

weeping,  to  be  soothed,  though  she  could  not  be 
convinced. 

She  slept  at  last ;  but  Guy  could  feel  that,  now 
and  then,  she  was  shaken  unconsciously  with  a 
sob,  which  broke  from  her  heavily,  as  a  wave  breaks 
long  after  the  storm  has  spent  itself. 


CHAPTER  II 

§  i 

GUY  did  not  send  word  of  his  marriage  to  Aunt 
Helen  until  within  three  days  of  his  return  to 
London.  He  wrote  quite  briefly  that  he  had 
married  a  country  girl.  He  had  married  her  in 
some  haste,  because  she  was  unhappy  at  home, 
and  had  run  away  from  her  father.  They  had 
gone  to  Devonshire  for  a  short  holiday,  and  he 
would  bring  his  wife  to  Hampstead  as  soon  as  they 
returned  to  London.  In  a  postscript  he  asked 
Aunt  Helen  to  tell  Marian. 

"  Now  I  know  why  he  borrowed  fifty  pounds," 
said  Aunt  Helen,  as  she  read  the  letter. 

She  wondered  what  Guy  might  mean  by  a 
country  girl.  She  tried  to  hope  it  was  not 
quite  as  bad  as  it  seemed.  At  the  best,  it 
was  bad  enough.  He  had  put  Marian  into  a 
postscript. 

At  that  moment  Marian  was  finishing  a  set  of 
tennis  with  Theodore.  Aunt  Helen  could  see  them 
playing  through  her  window.  She  so  hated  to  tell 
her  niece  what  had  happened  that  she  almost 
decided  to  say  nothing  until  the  married  pair  had 
actually  arrived  in  London.  A  moment's  reflection 
caused  her  to  realise  that  this  might  involve  too 
painful  a  surprise.  Marian  ought  to  have  time  to 
prepare  herself. 

108 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  109 

The  game  was  soon  finished,  and  the  players 
came  into  the  room. 

"Any  post?  "  asked  Marian,  looking  at  the  letter 
in  Aunt  Helen's  hand. 

"  There's  nothing  for  you,  dear,"  said  Aunt 
Helen. 

Marian  went  away  to  change  for  dinner.  Aunt 
Helen  knew  why  she  had  asked  for  letters.  Nothing 
had  come  from  Guy  since  he  had  suddenly  gone 
away,  over  three  weeks  ago. 

"  Can  you  dine  with  us  to-night,  Theo  ?  "  Aunt 
Helen  inquired. 

"  I  was  hoping  to  do  so,"  said  Theodore. 

"  Haven't  you  heard  from  Guy  yet  ?  "  he  said 
a  moment  later. 

"Why  do  you  ask?  " 

"  Well,  for  one  thing,  Guy  said  nothing  to 
Henderson  about  going  away,  and  there  have  been 
some  important  concerts.  He  ought  to  have  asked 
for  leave." 

He  meditated  a  moment,  and  added  cheerfully  : 
"  He  can't  stay  away  much  longer.  He  hadn't  a 
penny  when  he  left.  I  had  to  lend  him  ten 
pounds." 

"  Unfortunately,"  said  Aunt  Helen,  "  I  lent  him 
fifty." 

"  Good  gracious,"  said  Theodore,  "  that  may 
last  him  a  couple  of  months,  with  care." 

Aunt  Helen  smiled  grimly. 

"  It  won't  last  nearly  as  long  as  that,  my  dear 
boy.  There  are  two  of  them." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  two  of  them  ?  " 

"  What  does  it  usually  mean  ?  " 


110  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

Theodore  thought  of  Marian,  and  flushed  angrily. 

"  But  he's  as  good  as  engaged." 

"  He's  more  than  engaged,"  said  Aunt  Helen. 
"  He's  married." 

Aunt  Helen  handed  him  Guy's  letter. 

Theodore  read  it  with  an  increasing  indignation. 
When  he  came  to  the  postscript  he  threw  the  letter 
violently  on  the  table. 

"  Does  Marian  know  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Not  yet,"  Aunt  Helen  replied. 

§    2 

Half  way  through  dinner  the  mail  brought  in  a 
later  post.  As  a  family  they  were  remarkably 
fond  of  letters,  and  the  posts  were  always  handed 
round  as  soon  as  they  arrived.  There  was  a 
picture  postcard  for  Marian  with  a  view  of  the 
waterfall  at  Lynmouth. 

"  From  Guy,"  she  announced,  as  though  it  were 
of  little  consequence.  "  He's  coming  home  almost 
at  once."  She  looked  at  it  again  for  a  moment. 

"  What  does  he  mean  by  this  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  He  says :  '  Coming  home  in  a  day  or  so.  This 
is  a  lovely  place.  Wish  you  could  have  been  here 
to  see  it  in  this  glorious  weather.  Aunt  Helen 
will  have  told  you  my  news.'  Have  you  had 
any  news,  Auntie  ?  " 

There  was  a  short  silence. 

"  I  had  some  news  just  before  tea,"  said  Aunt 
Helen  at  last.  "  But  I  thought  it  could  wait." 

Marian  had  spent  several  weeks  anxiously 
wondering  why  Guy  should  suddenly  have  left  her 
at  a  moment  when  their  friendship  seemed  about 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  111 

to  ripen  into  something  closer.  Enough  had  passed 
between  them  to  make  his  conduct  appear  both 
inconsequent  and  unkind.  It  almost  amounted  to 
downright  infidelity,  especially  when  he  did  not 
write.  She  now  feared  the  worst  without  being 
able  to  conceive  what  the  worst  might  be.  She 
looked  steadily  at  Aunt  Helen. 

"This  means,  I  suppose,  that  your  news  is  bad?  " 

"  I  still  think  it  can  wait  until  after  dinner," 
said  Aunt  Helen. 

Marian  was  both  too  proud  and  too  frightened 
to  press  for  further  information.  Dinner  was 
quickly  finished.  Conversation  turned  for  refuge 
to  the  impertinence  of  Aunt  Helen's  parlour-maid, 
who  had  given  notice. 

Marian  had  put  an  advertisement  in  the  Morning 
Post  for  a  new  one. 

After  dinner  Theodore  remained  with  his  coffee 
in  the  dining  room.  Aunt  Helen  took  Marian  into 
the  drawing  room,  where  they  had  coffee  outside 
the  open  window. 

When  the  maid  had  withdrawn,  Aunt  Helen 
handed  Marian  her  letter  from  Guy.  Marian  read 
it,  and,  without  making  any  comment,  sat  looking 
into  the  garden.  Aunt  Helen  wondered  exactly 
how  much  it  was  costing  her  niece  to  sit  so  stedfastly 
and  look  so  long  at  the  flowers  which  she  did  not  see. 

"  I  wonder  what  she  is  like  ? "  said  Marian  at  last 

Aunt  Helen  realised  that  Marian  desired  the 
affair  to  be  treated  without  reference  to  its  more 
sensitive  implications. 

"  We  must  be  prepared  for  the  worst,"  she  said. 
'  Something  stout  and  strapping,  with  a  burr." 


112  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

Marian  was  recalling  what  Guy  had  said  to  her 
on  the  hill  at  Hampstead.  There  had  been  a  girl 
at  Oxford,  but  he  had  assured  her  that  this  affair 
was  at  an  end.  He  certainly  had  not  intended  to 
get  married  when  last  they  had  talked  together. 

Aunt  Helen,  somewhat  staggered  by  Marian's 
quiet  reception  of  the  news,  broke  into  her  re- 
flections. 

"  Did  you  know  anything  at  all  about  this  ?  " 

"  No,  Auntie.     At  least "  Marian  paused. 

"  Then  you  did  know  something?  " 

"  I  knew  there  had  once  been  a  girl,  but  Guy 
told  me  that  it  was  all  over.  He  no  longer  cared 
for  her.  I'm  sure  he  was  telling  me  the  truth." 

"  How  long  ago  was  this  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  was  still  seeing  her  quite  recently." 

"  And  suddenly  he  has  married  her,"  said  Aunt 
Helen. 

The  two  women  looked  at  one  another.  There 
is  only  one  superlatively  good  reason  why  a  man 
marries  a  woman  for  whom  he  has  ceased  to  care. 
Marian  suddenly  felt  the  need  to  be  alone,  where 
the  sickness  at  her  heart  would  be  beyond  reach  of 
betrayal. 

"  I'm  going  to  my  room,  Auntie,"  she  said  with 
a  kind  of  cold  defiance.  "  You  are  not  to  come 
to  me.  I  want  to  be  alone." 

She  kissed  her  Aunt  good  night  and  went  away. 

Her  thoughts  during  the  night  wandered  from 
one  bitter  alternative  to  another.  At  one  moment 
she  hoped  that  Guy  had  been  forced  into  this 
marriage.  That  at  least  left  her  reason  to  suppose 
that  his  last  impulse  towards  herself  was  not  wholly 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL 


an  illusion.  But  the  squalor  of  such  an  episode 
revolted  her  ;  she  hated  to  think  of  Guy  as  miser- 
ably entrapped.  She  even  preferred  the  other 
alternative  of  a  marriage  by  inclination.  He  must 
have  yielded  to  that  old  attraction  which  once 
before  had  carried  him  away  from  her. 

Marian  would  admit  no  jealousy.  She  hid  from 
herself  its  bitter  presence,  and  her  mind  darted  for 
escape  to  any  other  aspect  of  the  problem  than  that 
of  her  own  bereavement.  She  dwelt  most  hope- 
fully on  the  passage  in  Guy's  letter  in  which  he 
briefly  stated  that  his  wife  had  been  unhappy  at 
home.  This  gave  a  touch  of  Quixotry  to  the  enter- 
prise, something  she  could  understand  and  applaud 
in  Guy  without  being  required  to  forfeit  to  the 
girl  he  had  rescued  all  claim  to  his  heart. 

§  3 

Two  days  later,  in  the  afternoon,  Guy  arrived 
with  Sabina  at  Waterloo.  Since  the  catastrophic 
evening  at  Lynmouth  they  had  wandered  from 
place  to  place,  finally  entraining  for  London  at 
Seaton  in  East  Devon.  No  further  mention  had 
been  made  of  the  meeting  with  Powicke,  but  the 
memory  of  it  lay  between  them.  Guy  had  thought 
once  or  twice  of  making  humourous  allusions  to  the 
incident  ;  but  he  was  beginning  to  be  aware  that 
he  did  not  know  Sabina  well  enough  to  take  any 
liberties  with  her  pride. 

From  Waterloo  Guy  took  Sabina  to  his  rooms  in 
Hampstead.  He  had  ascertained  that  his  landlady 
would  accommodate  them  both  until  he  could  find 
other  quarters. 


114  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

Sabina  was  excited  by  her  first  arrival  in  London 
and  the  drive  home.  Nevertheless  she  could  not 
avoid  a  sinking  of  the  heart.  She  would  have  to 
meet  Guy's  people,  including  that  cousin  of  whom 
she  was  already  prepared  to  be  jealously  appre- 
hensive. 

They  had  tea  in  Guy's  rooms.  It  seemed  very 
quiet  and  domestic  after  their  hotel  life.  This  was 
where  they  would  have  to  settle  down.  They 
talked  at  random  to  cover  the  fact  that  they  were 
thinking  of  the  introductions  which  lay  before 
them. 

At  Fern  Cottage,  as  the  parlour-maid  had  just 
departed,  and  the  new  parlour-maid  engaged  by 
post  had  not  yet  arrived,  Guy  rang  the  bell  in  vain. 
He  decided  to  take  Sabina  round  by  the  garden 
door.  The  drawing-room  windows  were  open,  but 
no  one  was  to  be  seen.  He  told  Sabina  to  sit  down, 
and  said  he  would  run  upstairs  to  find  somebody. 

"Aren't  we  expected?"  Sabina  asked,  a  little 
fearfully. 

"  Not  at  any  particular  time,"  Guy  answered. 
"  I  said  we  should  come  along  in  a  few  days." 

"  Let's  wait  here,"  said  Sabina.  "  Somebody's 
sure  to  come  soon." 

"  Stuff,"  said  Guy.     "  We'll  get  it  over." 

§  4 

He  left  her  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  chester- 
field looking  strangely  small  and  prim.  She  had 
put  on  the  coat  and  skirt  she  had  bought  especially 
for  London.  She  wanted  to  call  Guy  back.  She 
looked  round  on  the  flowers  and  picture*  and 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  115 

chintzes,  and  thought  how  unattainably  nice  they 
all  were. 

Suddenly  she  heard  a  key  in  the  lock  of  the  front 
door.  The  front  door  was  opened  and  closed,  and 
steps  approached  the  room  where  she  sat.  She 
looked  at  the  open  door  with  a  kind  of  scared  and 
respectful  attention. 

She  divined  it  was  Marian  as  soon  as  she  saw 
her  enter.  She  rose  from  the  chesterfield  in  a 
sudden  agony  of  deference,  longing  to  hear  Guy 
upon  the  stairs.  She  perceived  that  Marian  was 
surprised  to  see  her  there.  Then  she  realised  that 
Marian  was  welcoming  her  in  a  curiously  impassive 
way,  and  inquiring  whether  she  had  come  straight 
from  the  station.  Would  she  like  to  have  some 
tea,  or  be  shown  at  once  to  her  room  ? 

'  We  were  expecting  you  yesterday,"  Marian 
was  saying.  "  Our  other  maid  has  already 
gone." 

When  Guy  came  into  the  room  a  moment  later 
he  noticed  that  Sabina  was  very  pale,  and  that  her 
eyes  were  painfully  bright. 

'  You'd  better  tell  your  cousin  who  I  am," 
Sabina  said.  "  She  takes  me  for  a  servant." 

"  What's  all  this,"  said  Guy,  sensing  a  cata- 
strophe. 

Marian  had  flushed  with  a  hideous  vexation. 
The  whole  position  was  so  cruelly  absurd.  She 
went  straight  to  Sabina. 

"  How  idiotic  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  The  sun 
was  in  my  eyes  and  I  couldn't  see  a  thing.  We 
were  expecting  a  maid  from  the  country." 

"  You  needn't  think  I  mind,"  said  Sabina. 


116  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

"  It's  for  me  to  mind,"  said  Marian.  "  It  makes 
me  look  so  silly.  And  I  wanted  to  make  a  good 
impression." 

Sabina  hated  Marian  all  the  more  for  trying  to 
be  nice.  That  lie  about  the  sun  in  her  eyes  enraged 
her,  because  it  was  so  obviously  designed  to  spare 
her  feelings.  She  had  felt  Marian  deliberately 
surveying  her  as  she  came  into  the  room,  as  though 
she  were  making  up  her  mind  whether  she  would 
"  do." 

"  You  needn't  be  nice  about  it,  thank  you," 
Sabina  flashed.  She  turned  to  Guy  in  a  burst  of 
miserable  temper. 

"  For  heaven's  sake  don't  stand  there  like  a  post. 
Can't  you  see  I  want  to  go  away  ?  " 

Marian  almost  flung  herself  between  them. 

"  You  mustn't  leave  us  like  that,"  she  said. 
"  Please  let  me  put  right  this  silly  mistake." 

Sabina  turned  from  them,  and  looked  for  a 
moment  out  of  the  window.  She  saw  herself 
again  from  the  outside,  as  when  she  had  waited 
for  Guy  in  the  road  at  Oxford,  and  as  when  she 
had  realised  all  the  implications  of  the  disastrous 
incident  at  Lynmouth.  She  turned  to  Marian. 

"  You  can  never  put  this  right,"  she  said,  with 
an  awful  deliberation.  "  You  have  told  me  the 
truth  about  myself.  You  know  it  is  the  truth,  and 
so  do  I." 

That  peculiarly  uncomfortable  silence  fell  upon 
the  room  which  occurs  when  somebody  says  some- 
thing which  everybody  would  like  to  contradict, 
but  which  everybody  knows  to  be  true.  It  lasted 
only  a  second,  but  it  was  fatal. 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  117 

"  Come  to  my  room,"  said  Marian,  ''and  take 
off  your  hat.  I'm  sure  we  can  make  friends  by 
ourselves." 

Sabina  turned  to  Guy  with  a  questioning  look. 
Guy  put  his  arm  round  her  shoulder. 

"  Yes,  dear,"  he  said.     "  Go  with  Marian." 

§  5 

Upstairs  Marian  did  all  in  her  power  to  repair 
her  error,  and  she  almost  succeeded.  Sabina 
accepted  her  advances  with  a  kind  of  sullen 
curiosity. 

"  This,"  she  thought,  "  is  how  ladies  behave 
when  they  are  sorry." 

Marian  did  not  allude  again  to  the  incident  in 
the  drawing  room.  She  praised  the  hat  Sabina 
was  wearing,  and  frankly  admired  her  prettiness. 
She  talked  of  Guy  as  women  talk  of  a  man  whom 
they  like,  and  have  a  right  to  discuss  with  domestic 
familiarity,  and  in  talking  of  Guy  she  delicately 
assumed  that  Sabina  must  really  know  more  about 
him  than  anyone  else. 

"  I  feel  almost  jealous,"  said  Marian  with  the 
audacity  which  conceals  a  secret  by  exposing  one 
half  of  it.  "Guy  used  to  be  rather  fond  of  me. 
But  he  wrote  a  letter  from  Devonshire  about  you, 
and  put  me  into  a  postscript." 

A  bitter  little  smile  flickered  on  Sabina's 
mouth. 

She  had  seen  a  postcard  on  Marian's  dressing 
table  with  a  picture  of  the  fall  at  Lynmouth  where 
she  had  often  rested  with  Guy  ;  and  in  Guy's 
enormous  hand  she  had  read  :  "  Wish  you  could 


118  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

have  been  here  to  see  it  in  this  glorious  weather." 

Guy  and  Sabina  spent  the  evening  at  Fern 
Cottage  with  Aunt  Helen,  who  came  in  later,  and 
with  Marian.  They  encouraged  Sabina  to  talk  of 
her  holiday,  and  laid  plans  for  finding  a  little  house 
somewhere  in  Hampstead.  But  Sabina  hardly 
talked  at  all.  She  was  divided  between  admiration 
and  distrust.  She  was  so  obviously  the  object  of 
a  beautiful  deceit. 

She  thought  Aunt  Helen  was  the  kindest  person 
she  had  ever  met,  but  she  must  surely  have  heard 
about  the  parlour-maid,  and  her  apparent  un- 
consciousness of  anything  amiss  savoured  of  con- 
spiracy. It  did  not  improve  the  position  for 
Sabina  that  the  real  parlour-maid  had  by  this  time 
appeared.  Sabina  noted  that  the  real  parlour-maid 
was  infinitely  "  ladylike."  The  real  parlour-maid 
even  corrected  her  table  manners  ;  for,  as  she  was 
in  the  act  of  putting  salad  among  her  peas  and 
potatoes,  the  adjacent  salad  plate  was  gently 
insinuated  upon  her  notice. 

After  Guy  and  Sabina  had  gone  home,  Aunt 
Helen  and  Marian  stayed  up  late  discussing  what 
had  happened. 

"  In  a  way,"  said  Marian,  "  it  was  a  tragedy, 
my  coming  in  like  that,  but  at  least  I  know  why 
he  married  her.  I  felt  for  her  as  one  feels  for  a 
pretty  child  or  animal  that  has  been  hurt.  I  felt 
it  all  the  more  as  I  knew  it  was  almost  impossible 
to  stroke  her  without  being  scratched." 

"  If  I  were  a  man,"  said  Aunt  Helen,  "  I  should 
love  her  for  three  weeks  and  then  I  should  want 
to  put  her  out  of  her  misery.  Meanwhile  it  is  oui 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  119 

duty  to  civilise  her.     It  will  be  a  difficult  business, 
and  I  really  don't  know  what  to  do." 

"  We  must  ask  Theodore  about  it,"  said  Marian. 

§  6 

That  evening  Guy,  sitting  with  Sabina  in  their 
room,  feared  a  repetition  of  the  scene  at  Lyn- 
mouth.  But  Sabina  was  strangely  quiet.  She 
was,  indeed,  absent  and  thoughtful  to  such  a  de- 
gree that  Guy  was  moved  to  bring  her  into  touch 
with  him. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said,  after  a  long  silence,  "  what 
do  you  think  of  them  ?  " 

"  They  did  their  best,"  said  Sabina. 

"  And  that  stupid  affair  doesn't  matter  ?  " 

"I'm  trying  to  forget  it,"  said  Sabina,  "  if 
you'll  only  let  me." 

Guy  did  not  feel  encouraged  to  continue.  After 
a  while  Sabina  said  suddenly  :  "  I  suppose  you're 
very  fond  of  your  cousin." 

"  We're  great  friends." 

"  You  wrote  to  her  while  we  were  at  the  sea." 

"  A  postcard,"  said  Guy. 

"  You  said  you  wished  she  were  there." 

"  Did  I  say  that  ?  " 

"  You  know  you  did." 

"  I  wished  she  could  have  seen  th«  place." 

"  I  didn't  want  anybody  else,"  said  Sabina. 

"  Nor  did  I  really,"  said  Guy. 

"  You  wanted  her  to  see  the  place,  and  yet  you 
didn't  want  her  to  be  there,"  said  Sabina. 

"  I  thought  of  Marian,  and  wished  she  could  be 
as  happy  as  I  was." 


120  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

"  That  was  very  nice  of  you,"  said  Sabina. 

He  went  quickly  to  her  side. 

"  Darling,"  he  said,  "  you  know  I  only  wanted 
you." 

She  looked  up  at  him,  and  something  in  her  look 
caused  him  to  lose  all  control  of  himself.  Love 
and  fear  and  resentment  and  a  pain  which  affected 
him  almost  like  a  physical  wound  were  in  her  eyes. 
He  kissed  her  and  his  speech  became  mere  endear- 
ment— incoherent,  absurd,  ungoverned. 

It  was  the  best  consolation  he  could  bring.  She 
lay  a  while  in  his  arms,  and  then,  gripping  him 
fast,  said  that  as  long  as  he  loved  her  nothing  else 
could  matter. 


CHAPTER  III 

§  i 

A  FEW  days  after  his  arrival  in  London  Guy  went 
to  the  Temple  to  find  his  brother.  He  had 
waited  for  Theodore  to  make  a  sign,  but  Theodore 
had  hardened  his  heart. 

Without  any  preface  or  previous  allusion  to  his 
marriage,  Guy  said  suddenly  : 

"  You  must  come  and  see  her,  Theo." 

"  Was  this  the  girl  you  met  at  Oxford  ?  " 
Theodore  briefly  inquired. 

"  Yes,"  Guy  admitted. 

"  Why  have  you  married  her  ?  " 

"  She  was  unhappy." 

"  Anything  else  ?  " 

"  I  care  for  her  tremendously." 

Theodore  got  up  and  walked  about  the  room. 
He  wanted  to  make  his  brother  see  the  position 
as  he  saw  it.  But  he  could  say  nothing  to  the 
point  without  involving  Marian.  He  pulled  up 
suddenly  opposite  Guy  and  said  : 

"  Where  are  you  going  to  live  ?  " 

"  Why  not  Hampstead  ?  " 

"  Can  you  afford  it  ?  " 

"  £200  from  the  Moderator,"  said  Guy  ;  "  £200 
of  my  own,  and  pickings.  I  should  think  we  might 
run  to  it." 

"  The    Moderator  is  uncertain,"  said  Theodore. 

121 


122  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

"  You  won't  keep  any  job  long,  if  you  go  off 
suddenly  in  the  middle  of  a  busy  time  and  say 
nothing  about  it." 

"  I  never  thought  of  that,"  said  Guy. 

§  2 

They  went  out  to  Hampstead,  where  they  found 
Sabina  struggling  with  modern  books.  They 
talked  for  a  while  about  the  holiday  in  Devonshire. 
Sabina  felt  more  at  her  ease  with  Theodore  than 
with  anyone  she  had  so  far  met  in  the  new  life. 
His  serious  eyes  and  quiet  deliberate  manner 
seemed  to  assure  her  that  here  was  a  man  on  whom 
she  would  be  able  to  rely.  She  felt  she  could,  if 
necessary,  tell  him  things.  He  had  the  same 
fundamental  kindness  in  his  nature  as  Guy ;  but 
he  seemed  to  suffer  from  none  of  those  elfin  in- 
trusions which  mocked  at  the  heels  of  Guy's  most 
serious  moods. 

Meanwhile  Theodore  was  assessing  this  tragic 
partnership.  He  felt  the  eagerness  and  simplicity 
of  her  nature  through  the  preliminary  awkward- 
ness of  their  meeting ;  and,  as  he  answered  and 
asked  questions  of  no  consequence,  he  was  telling 
himself  how  cruelly  she  would  suffer. 

And  yet  he  could  not  be  angry  with  Guy.  Guy, 
eager  that  he  should  be  favourably  impressed, 
anxiously  watched  the  effect  of  all  she  said,  and 
was  clearly  delighted  to  see  that  she  liked  Theodore 
from  the  start.  Theodore  thought  of  them  down 
by  the  sea,  and  for  a  moment  suffered  that  small 
twist  of  envy  which  the  quiet  people  sometimes 
feel  when  they  realise  there  are  heights  and  depths 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  123 

beyond  the  middle  levels  of  experience.  Now  and 
then  he  intercepted  looks  between  the  two  of  them 
speaking  a  celestial  language.  He  realised  that 
they  had  achieved  an  intimacy  beyond  his  reach. 
And  all  the  while  he  felt  afraid  for  them.  It  was 
not  merely  that  this  strange  idyll  did  not  fit  in  with 
the  work  his  brother  had  to  do  and  the  position  he 
hoped  his  brother  would  achieve.  The  relation- 
ship itself  seemed  perilous.  It  had  an  intensity 
which  put  it  out  of  touch  with  the  normal.  It 
seemed  somehow  to  be  threatened.  Even  the 
maid,  who  announced  that  dinner  was  served  in 
the  adjoining  room,  seemed  in  a  way  their  enemy. 
She  represented  the  life  of  everyday,  which  for 
them  was  something  hostile  and  prohibitive. 

§  3 

Later  in  the  evening  Marian  arrived.  She  was 
anxious  to  repair  her  error  of  the  day  before,  and 
did  all  she  could  to  start  topics  which  for  Sabina 
were  familiar  and  accessible.  But  there  was 
almost  immediately  apparent  in  Sabina's  manner 
an  involuntary  stiffening.  She  became  awkward 
and  nervous  ;  and,  when  Marian  steered  the  con- 
versation towards  country  matters,  Sabina  was  so 
far  from  seizing  her  opportunity,  that,  thinking  a 
deliberate  allusion  to  her  origin  was  intended,  she 
said  that  she  hated  the  country  and  wished  never 
to  see  it  again. 

Later  still  Powicke  came  to  be  introduced. 
Sabina  flushed  when  Powicke  was  announced,  and 
wondered  at  his  assurance  when  he  accepted  Guy's 
introduction  as  though  they  had  never  met  before 


124  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

She  felt  a  bitter  resentment  against  the  whole 
company.  The  gentleman  who  had  seen  her  at 
Lynmouth,  and  had  so  grossly  mistaken  her,  could 
only  be  behaving  nicely  to  her  now  out  of  kindness, 
and,  if  he  was  acting  a  part,  then  so  were  the 
others.  They  probably  all  knew  about  that  incident 
in  Devonshire  and  about  the  parlour-maid  at  Fern 
Cottage. 

"  They  are  all  wondering  why  Guy  married  me," 
she  told  herself. 

Her  share  in  the  conversation  soon  became  mono- 
syllabic, and  to  avoid  the  awkwardness  of  long 
silences  the  others  were  forced  to  talk  of  books, 
and  people  and  current  affairs. 

Sabina  listened  to  this  conversation  with  dismay  ; 
there  was  so  much  for  her  to  learn.  She  felt  she 
would  never  be  able  to  take  part.  These  people 
were  all  too  clever  for  her. 

She  was  relieved  when  someone  proposed  that 
Guy  should  play. 

"  What  shall  it  be,"  said  Guy  to  the  company 
at  large. 

"  Debussy,"  said  Powicke. 

Guy  played  the  "  Children's  Corner." 

Then  somebody  asked  Marian  to  play. 

"  Oh  she,  too,  can  play,"  said  Sabina  to  herself. 

She  saw  that  Guy  warmly  approved  of  her 
playing  ;  and,  when  somebody  suggested  that  they 
should  play  together,  a  pain  like  the  pain  she  had 
felt  when  the  woman  at  Lynmouth  had  looked  at 
Guy  over  the  rim  of  her  glass,  suddenly  surprised 
her. 

Instinctively,  as  they  played,  she  divined  the 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  125 

intimacy  of  feeling  expressed  in  their  performance. 
She  watched  in  a  fascinated  way  the  four  hands 
moving  rhythmically  upon  the  keys  ;  and  once, 
when  their  hands  touched  and  parted  on  the  notes, 
she  felt  a  curious  hot  flush  of  anger.  She  waited 
for  it  to  happen  again,  watching  the  near  approach 
of  the  two  middle  hands  with  a  pang  of  physical 
jealousy  which  wavered  like  hot  iron  under  a 
bellows. 

She  expected,  when  the  music  was  finished,  that 
they  would  say  something,  or  look  at  one  another 
in  a  way  declaring  an  intimacy  from  which  she 
was  excluded.  To  her  surprise,  however,  Marian 
rose  abruptly,  shut  the  piano  with  a  snap,  and 
said  she  must  be  going. 

Marian  remembered  a  previous  occasion  when 
Guy  and  she  had  played  together  in  that  room. 
Guy  remembered  it  too,  and,  after  looking  at 
Marian  for  a  moment  rather  like  a  child  unex- 
pectedly rebuked,  turned  away  from  her  in  a  cloud. 
This  was  not  lost  upon  Sabina. 

§4 

Marian's  signal  for  departure  broke  up  the 
evening. 

Sabina  would  say  nothing  about  what  had  passed 
except  that  she  liked  Guy's  brother  very  much. 
But,  when  the  light  was  out  and  they  lay  together 
in  their  room,  she  began  to  talk.  She  would  often 
do  this.  It  was  easier  to  say  things  just  in  that 
way.  Guy  heard  her  voice  coming  as  though  from 
nowhere,  with  just  that  suspicion  of  a  dialect 
(fainter  now  than  when  first  he  had  met  her)  which 


126  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

he  had  almost  come  to  love  in  their  close  times, 
but  which  had  begun  to  torment  him,  because  it 
tormented  her,  when  there  were  other  people 
present. 

"  Why  do  you  love  me,  Guy  ?  "  he  heard  her  say. 

"  How  can  I  tell  you  that  ?  "  he  responded. 

"  I'm  sometimes  the  most  hateful  creature,"  she 
said. 

"  Those  people  to-night,"  she  went  on,  after  a 
pause. 

"  They  were  trying  to  be  kind  and  I  detested 
them,  and  when  you  were  playing  with  your 
cousin " 

"  Say  Marian,  dear." 

"  I  will  never  say  Marian,"  said  Sabina. 

"  When  you  were  playing  with  her,"  she  con- 
tinued, "  I  was  jealous.  It  hurts  horribly  to  be 
jealous,  but  I  can't  help  it." 

There  was  a  silence. 

"  I  hoped  you  would  be  happy  to-night,"  said 
Guy  later  on.  "  Theodore  likes  you  tremendously, 
and  you  are  going  to  be  great  friends." 

They  talked  of  Theodore  for  a  while.  Guy  told 
her  all  he  could  about  his  brother  ;  and,  when  they 
at  last  went  to  sleep,  both  were  a  little  reassured 
by  the  thought  of  him. 

§  5 

Meanwhile  Theodore  was  smoking  a  pipe  in  his 
rooms  at  the  Temple.  Haunted  by  the  sensitive 
prettiness  of  his  brother's  wife,  he  wondered 
what  he  would  do  with  her  if  she  belonged  to  him. 
Theodore  naturally  thought  of  people  as  belonging 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  127 

to  other  people.  The  girl  could  not  be  much  more 
than  nineteen. 

He  decided  that  he  would  probably  have  sent 
her  to  school.  Her  inflamed  sensitiveness  could 
only  be  overcome  by  allowing  her  gradually  to 
discover  that  the  clever  people  were  not  half  so 
clever  as  they  seemed.  In  about  two  years  she 
would  learn  that  what  most  people  know  can  be 
very  easily  mastered.  Theodore  decided  that  he 
would  put  the  idea  to  Sabina  himself.  Guy  would 
certainly  make  a  mess  of  it. 

Theodore  turned  from  thinking  of  his  brother  to 
look  a  little  sardonically  at  himself.  He  sometimes 
felt  savage  with  himself  for  being  a  careful  man. 

"  I  shall  not  marry  till  I'm  thirty-five,"  he 
reflected.  "  Unless  I  can  marry  with  advantage," 
he  added  with  a  sidelong  smile,  half  whimsical  and 
half  serious.  "  Or  unless " 

He  paused  upon  a  thought  which  had  struck 
him.  Marian  was  free  now,  and  there  was  no 
reason  why  he  should  not  try  for  her.  Half  Marian 
was  better  than  no  Marian  at  all. 

But  why  with  him  should  it  be  always  half, 
whereas  with  Guy  it  was  usually  more  than  the 
whole.  And  again,  in  thinking  of  Guy  by  the  sea 
with  the  girl  whose  face  was  so  like  a  flower,  and 
who  seemed  alive  to  things  in  a  way  which  shadowed 
even  Marian,  he  felt  once  more  that  twinge  of  envy 
which  was  sometimes  part  of  his  affection,  and 
always  a  part  of  his  anger,  when  faced  with  a  crisii 
in  his  brother's  destiny. 


CHAPTER  IV 

§  i 

GUY  was  unable  to  find  a  house  in  Hampstead 
immediately.  Meanwhile  he  stayed  with 
Sabina  in  his  old  rooms.  These  were  unhappy 
weeks  for  them  both,  but  especially  for  Sabina.  No 
worse  arrangement  could  have  been  made  than  one 
which  left  her  for  long  hours,  while  Guy  was  about 
his  business,  with  nothing  to  do  but  to  struggle 
with  books  which  at  every  turn  convicted  her  of 
a  deeper  ignorance  ;  to  wait  and  brood  over  her 
shortcomings  ;  or  to  sit  apprehensive  and  resentful 
with  Aunt  Helen  or  Marian  and  their  friends,  vainly 
trying  to  find  a  common  ground  on  which  to  meet. 
The  position  was  all  the  worse  owing  to  a  pretence 
which  both  maintained  that  their  love  was  sufficient 
in  itself.  Guy  came  home  assuming  that  he  would 
find  her  gloriously  happy,  and  Sabina  greeted  him 
as  though  she  were  happy  too.  They  told  them- 
selves in  long  walks  during  the  evening,  during 
their  intimate  little  suppers  together,  and  in  their 
whispered  conversations  at  night,  that  they  were 
the  happiest  creatures  alive.  Sometimes  they 
believed  it.  At  all  times  they  tried  to  believe  it. 
It  was  a  relief  for  Sabina  sometimes  to  attend 
concerts  or  the  Opera  with  Guy,  though  the  music 
wearied  her  and  often  she  could  hardly  endure  the 
endless  succession  of  sounds  which  for  her  had  no 

12* 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  129 

reason  or  rhyme.  But  she  liked  to  dine  at  some 
little  restaurant  in  Soho,  and  to  walk  on  Guy's  arm 
through  the  streets  in  the  spring  air,  when  the 
buildings  of  the  city  glimmered  as  though  with 
their  own  light,  and  the  lamps  shone  under  a  sky 
still  as  luminous  as  they.  At  these  times  she  was 
gay  ;  and,  looking  with  fresh  eyes  upon  the  people 
and  incidents  of  the  street,  would  amuse  Guy  with 
quaint  comments  and  unexpected  analogies.  At 
these  moments  Guy  had  an  intimate  pride  in  her. 

"  Why  can't  she  be  like  this  with  Marian  and 
the  others  ?  "  he  would  think. 

After  the  music  she  rarely  recovered  her  gaiety 
until  they  had  got  home,  and  she  could  forget  that 
the  performance  which  had  meant  so  much  to 
Guy  had  for  her  been  incomprehensible  and 
wearisome.  They  had  supper,  with  hot  coffee ; 
and,  all  the  world  being  gone  to  bed,  they  would 
sometimes  scramble  about  the  Heath  together. 
They  usually  passed  Fern  Cottage  on  these  occa- 
sions. Sabina  felt  strangely  exultant  as  they 
did  so.  She  was  so  much  alive,  and  the  blank  house 
seemed  so  obviously  extinguished.  She  liked  to 
walk  under  Marian's  window  with  the  restraint  of 
Guy's  arm  about  her.  She  even  gloried  in  what  she 
conceived  to  be  the  vulgarity  of  walking  like  this 
in  the  street. 

"  She  would  never  do  anything  so  common," 
Sabina  thought  as  they  passed.  "  But  how  she 
would  miss  it,  if  she  only  knew." 

This  was  her  revenge  for  the  Hampstead  parties, 
in  which  she  experienced  again,  more  poignantly, 
the  miseries  of  the  evening  when  first  she  had  met 


180  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

Theodore,  and  Marian  had  joined  them.  These 
parties  were  becoming  a  nightmare.  The  talk 
confused  her  mind  and  even  shocked  her  by  its 
impious  freedoms.  On  one  of  these  occasions 
Theodore  had  rescued  her  from  a  Newnham  girl 
in  a  state  of  horror  and  amazement.  More  often 
she  felt  simply  stupid,  and  thought  that  nobody 
else  had  ever  been  so  stupid  in  the  world  before. 
She  would  sit  silently  pretending  to  be  interested 
in  her  food,  smiling  an  occasional  fixed  smile, 
unable  to  contribute  a  word,  and  dreading  to  be 
drawn  into  the  conversation. 

It  was  while  walking  home  from  one  of  these 
Hampstead  parties  that  Theodore  first  referred  to 
his  plan  for  alleviating  an  impossible  position  which 
was  rapidly  growing  worse.  Sabina  that  evening, 
after  a  few  shy  endeavours  to  participate,  had 
remained  sullenly  silent,  and  had  rejected  every 
effort  to  include  her.  She  had  made  up  her  mind 
that  she  would  never  come  out  to  dinner  again. 

Guy  was  walking  a  little  in  advance,  vivaciously 
attended  by  a  bevy  of  which  the  Newnham  girl 
was  the  most  conspicuous  member.  Theodore  was 
walking  behind  with  Sabina.  He  watched  her  face 
as  she  stared  at  the  party  ahead  of  them.  Sud- 
denly he  took  her  by  the  arm. 

"  In  the  dumps  ?  "  he  enquired,  looking  absurdly 
like  a  father. 

"  I'm  no  good,"  said  Sabina  tragically.  "  I 
sometimes  wish  I  was  dead,"  she  added,  with  a 
wicked  vehemence. 

,'  Stuff,"  said  Theodore. 

,'  Stuff  is  one  of  Guy's  words,"  said  Sabina,  with 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  131 

a  hysterical  laugh.  "  But  you're  not  a  bit  like 
Guy,"  she  added  after  a  pause.  "  Not  really." 

"  How  old  are  you  ?  "  said  Theodore,  with  ap- 
parent irrelevance. 

"  Twenty  next  July,"  said  Sabina.  "  Why  do 
you  ask  ?  " 

"  I  was  wondering  what  I  should  do  with  you 
if^I  were  your  father,"  said  Theodore. 

Sabina  looked  at  him  in  faint  surprise.  "  What 
would  you  do  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  Well,  to  begin  with,"  said  Theodore,  "  I  should 
send  you  to  school." 

"  But  I'm  grown  up." 

"  So  am  I,"  said  Theodore.  "  But  I'm  still  at 
school." 

"  Now  you  are  like  Guy,"  said  Sabina.  "  You're 
making  fun." 

"  I'm  not  making  fun,"  said  Theodore,  seriously. 
"  I'm  at  school  learning  to  be  a  lawyer.  Guy  and 
I  were  both  of  us  at  school  less  than  a  year  ago. 
That  girl  in  front,"  he  said,  indicating  the  Newnham 
girl,  "  is  still  at  school." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Sabina.  "  I'm  not  in  love 
with  her.  Besides,  I'm  married." 

"  No  need  to  tell  the  other  girls,"  said  Theodore. 

They  walked  on  a  few  steps.  At  last  Sabina 
said,  "  Is  this  a  notion  you've  got,  or  are  you  just 
trying  it  on." 

"  It's  a  notion,"  said  Theodore. 

"  I  see,"  said  Sabina,  darkly.  "  I'm  not  good 
enough." 

Theodore  pressed  her  arm  as  they  walked. 

"  You  left  school  long  before  you  ought  to  have 


182  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

done,"  he  said.  "  We  must  make  it  up  to  you 
somehow.  In  two  years  you  could  know  as  much 
as  any  of  us,  and  you  would  discover  how  easy  it 
is  to  talk  to  people  and  be  just  yourself." 

Sabina    turned    to    him    curiously. 

Suddenly  she  asked,  in  sharp  suspicion  : 
"  Has  Guy  been  putting  you  up  to  this  ?  " 

"  It's  my  own  idea  entirely,"  said  Theodore. 

At  this  point  the  others  called  them  up  for  a 
general  exchange  of  valedictions. 

§   2 

That  night  Sabina  spoke  of  Theodore's  plan 
while  she  was  combing  her  hair.  Her  face  was 
turned  from  Guy,  who  was  in  bed  reading  a  music 
score.  He  was  out  of  spirits  owing  to  Sabina's 
unhappiness  at  the  party,  which  had  been  her 
worst  failure. 

He  had  expected  their  day  would  end  as  it  often 
ended  now.  They  frequently  had  to  face  such 
evenings  as  this.  They  would  pretend  that  nothing 
had  happened  to  trouble  them  ;  but  each  would 
be  conscious  that  the  other  had  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings unconfessed  and  even  denied.  Each  would  lie 
awhile,  finding  comfort  superficial  and  imperfect 
in  the  near  presence  of  the  other  ;  and  then,  with 
an  obscure  resentment  against  the  trouble  which 
came  between  them,  they  would  sleep  upon  a 
problem  evaded  and  a  disappointment  unadmitted. 

With  these  occasions,  when  all  was  ignored,  there 
alternated  crises  of  emotion.  To-night,  when 
Sabina  called  to  Guy  from  where  she  sat  at  the 
dressing  table,  he  put  down  his  score  with  a  sinking 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  133 

heart.  He  saw  the  old  scene  re-enacted.  He 
would  plead  and  argue  with  Sabina,  and  gradually 
he  would  prevail.  Then  she  would  be  reconciled, 
and  they  would  invoke  passion  to  cover  and  to 
heal  them.  He  saw  all  this  in  advance,  and 'his 
prevision  gave  it  an  air  absurdly  and  monotonously 
automatic. 

He  was  surprised  when  she  simply  told  him  of 
Theodore's  suggestion  that  she  should  go  to  school. 

"  At  first,"  she  said,  "  I  thought  he  was  making 
fun ;  but  he  really  meant  it." 

Guy  thought  a  moment. 

"  It's  an  idea,"  he  said  at  last.  "  But  it  wants 
thinking  about." 

"  Theodore  thought  about  it,"  said  Sabina. 

"  Good  for  Theodore,"  said  Guy. 

The  idea  was  already  taking  root  in  him.  He 
wondered  at  what  sort  of  school  she  could  possibly 
get  what  she  wanted  without  being  subjected  to 
exactly  the  same  difficulties  she  encountered  at  tht 
Hampstead  parties. 

"  It  depends  on  the  school,"  he  said  guardedly. 

"  Theodore  will  find  a  school,"  said  Sabina. 

She  said  it  like  a  child  who  has  found  the  kind 
of  uncle  who  is  a  wonder  because  he  only  comes  to 
the  house  occasionally. 

Guy  had  an  absurd  picture  of  her  sitting  on  a 
form,  learning  the  dates  of  the  kings  of  England 
as  a  preparation  for  encounters  with  the  Newnham 
girl.  The  imp  in  him  looked  at  the  picture,  and 
smiled  ;  but  the  imp  was  not  all.  He  saw  the  girl 
who  was  his  wife,  happy  and  yet  unhappy,  twisting 
her  hair  in  little  knots  of  blue  tissue  paper.  She 


134  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

turned  to  him  with  the  knots  lying  above  her  ears 
and  the  two  long  plaits  falling  across  her  breast. 
The  imp  was  silenced,  and  the  pity  of  it  gripped 
him  viciously.  The  sudden  meeting  of  the  two 
impulses  was  too  much  for  his  self-control.  He 
held  out  his  hand  to  her.  She  came  to  him, 
wondering  at  the  sudden  brightening  in  his  eyes 
and  the  hard  clasp  of  his  fingers  ;  and,  when  he 
suddenly  dipped  his  face  to  her  knees  and  avoided 
her  looks,  she  felt  his  cheeks  and  found  they  were 
wet.  It  was  the  first  time  Sabina  had  ever  really 
conceived  that  Guy  might  be  as  much  in  need  of 
comfort  as  she.  She  looked  down  at  him  with  a 
strange  pleasure.  She  could  say  nothing,  but 
simply  let  him  lie,  till,  without  looking  at  her, 
he  said  :  "  Sabina,  dear,  if  only  I  could  make 
you  really  happy." 

"I'm  often  a  beast  to  you,"  said  Sabina,  with  a 
deeper  relevance  than  was  apparent. 

They  declared  their  love  in  the  dearest  words 
they  could  find  ;  and,  when  the  moment  had  passed, 
Guy  reverted  almost  breezily  to  Theodore's  plan. 
They  talked  about  it  for  a  long  while,  and  for  the 
first  time  during  many  weeks  they  slept  with  a 
quiet  relief  in  their  hearts.  In  one  moment  of 
direct  and  declared  feeling  they  had  relaxed  the 
strain  of  emotions  long  ignored  or  denied  expression. 


CHAPTER  V 

§  i 

THEODORE  shortly  announced  that  he  had 
found  a  school.  It  was  in  Cheltenham,  and 
it  was  decided  that  Sabina  should  go  there  after  the 
summer  holidays.  Meanwhile  they  remained  in  the 
Hampstead  rooms,  and  Sabina  prepared  her  trunk 
for  departure.  Theodore  overruled  Guy's  fears  that 
she  would  be  lonely  or  out  of  countenance.  He 
had  carefully  chosen  the  school,  and  had  arranged 
for  a  special  treatment  of  Sabina' s  case.  The 
girls'were  of  a  class  which  would  not  be  at  all  formid- 
able^for  Sabina  after  her  experience  at  Hampstead, 
and  the  Principal  had  undertaken  to  look  after  her 
personally. 

The  life  at  Hampstead  remained  much  the  same, 
except  that  Sabina  went  to  no  more  parties  and 
saw  as  little  as  possible  of  Marian  and  Aunt  Helen. 
Guy  began  a  book  on  contemporary  composers 
which  kept  him  busy  at  home.  On  the  whole  this 
was  a  happy  interval.  The  threat  of  separation 
softened  their  relationship,  and  the  hopeful  ad- 
venture in  preparation  lightened  their  hearts. 
Theodore  was  a  frequent  visitor,  and  often  brought 
odd  things  for^the  trunk.  The  trunk  became  an 
institution.  Guy  and  Sabina  and  Theodore  would 
stand  outside  Peter  Robinson's  or  Selfridge's,  and 
one  of  them  would  say  :  "  That  would  be  rather  a 

135 


136  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

nice  thing  for  the  trunk,  don't  you  think?  "  Then 
they  would  go  in.  Guy  would  choose  something, 
and  Theodore,  when  Guy  had  run  short  of  small 
change,  which  frequently  happened,  would  pay 
for  it. 

In  due  time  the  trunk  was  packed  and  Sabina 
went  from  Paddington,  on  a  sunny  day  in 
September.  Guy  and  Theodore  were  both  in 
attendance.  They  went  away  with  a  memory  of 
her  sitting  back  in  a  corner  seat  (the  trunk  was 
safely  in  the  van),  smiling  wistfully  as  they  stood 
by  the  door,  and  for  the  tenth  time  told  her  of  the 
trap  that  was  to  meet  her  and  the  amount  of 
money  she  was  to  give  the  porter  at  the  other  end. 

§   2 

As  soon  as  Sabina  had  left  London,  Guy  moved 
into  a  cottage  on  the  borders  of  Sussex.  Powicke 
had  told  him  of  the  cottage,  which  was  on  the 
estate  of  his  father,  Lord  Melsham,  not  far  from 
Tunbridge  Wells.  Guy  could  have  it  for  nothing 
as  long  as  he  liked,  and  the  woodcutter's  wife 
further  up  the  lane  would  look  after  him.  The 
quiet  of  the  place  was  just  what  he  needed.  London 
could  be  reached  in  two  hours.  The  cottage,  which 
was  called  Brambletye,  was  not  far  from  Old 
Place,  Lord  Melsham's  country  seat. 

Theodore,  in  the  intervals  of  reading  for  the  Bar, 
had  accepted  the  post  of  secretary  to  Lord  Melsham, 
and  in  this  capacity  began  to  frequent  Old  Place 
soon  after  Guy  had  taken  up  his  quarters  at  Bram- 
bletye. It  was  four  miles  to  Old  Place  by 
road ;  but  there  was  an  alternative  path  which 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  1ST 

ran  through  the  woods,  and  divided  the  journey  by 
three. 

Brambletye  was  a  pleasant  cottage,  timbered 
and  built  in  the  old  Kentish  fashion  with  a  high 
tiled  roof.  But  it  was  dark,  and,  as  the  nights 
became  chilly,  it  was  cold.  It  lay  with  a  stretch 
of  garden  separating  it  from  the  road.  The  road 
ran  along  the  side  of  a  hill,  and  was  higher  than  the 
cottage,  so  that  a  person  standing  by  the  road  gate 
could  look  in  at  the  attic  windows.  The  trees 
further  up  the  hill  cut  off  the  light.  Looking  from 
the  front  of  the  cottage  towards  the  rise  of  the  hill 
one  could  imagine  that  the  big  trees  were  marching 
down,  and  might  kick  the  cottage  over  the  treetops 
which  spread  from  the  back  of  it  still  further  down 
the  slope. 

The  road  above  the  cottage  was  the  road  by 
which  Theodore  arrived  in  Lord  Melsham's  car 
when  he  came  to  Old  Place.  Theodore  often 
passed  in  the  late  evening  and  saw  the  light  in  his 
brother's  window.  Always  he  would  stop  and  talk, 
and  often  he  would  take  Guy  along  with  him  to 
dinner. 

Guy  was  now  deeply  engaged  in  the  book,  which 
he  hoped  would  make  some  stir  among  the  music- 
ians ;  and  he  was  doing  continually  more  work 
for  Henderson,  though  there  were  many  things  of 
which  Henderson  did  not  approve. 

One  thing,  especially,  Henderson  did  not  like. 
He  understood  from  his  cashier  that  Guy  was 
inclined  to  press  for  his  salary  before  the  long 
delays  incident  to  the  payment  of  remuneration 
for  literary  services  had  altogether  run  their 


138  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

•  n.*^N8^S&**  •••.'* 
course.     This  was  incompatible  with  the  dignity 

of  a  member  of  the  staff. 

Guy  could  never  understand  how  he  contrived 
to  spend  his  money.  He  could  not  see  that  he 
spent  anything  at  all.  He  lived  by  himself  fru- 
gally in  a  cottage  for  which  he  paid  no  rent. 
Sabina's  school  fees  had  been  paid  in  advance  by 
Theodore,  because  Theodore  happened  to  be 
arranging  the  affair.  Guy  had  made  a  note  of  the 
amount  on  the  back  of  an  envelope,  which  he  had 
lost.  He  had  also  made  a  similar  note  of  a  debt 
to  Aunt  Helen.  These  obligations  would  be  quite 
easily  met  when  he  got  the  next  big  lump  sum. 
Meanwhile  incidental  expenses  actively  carried  off 
all  the  little  lump  sums  which  he  received  from  day 
to  day,  and  the  big  lump  sums  had  a  way  of 
delaying  their  appearance  until  they  had  become 
heavily  embarrassed  with  charges  each  of  which 
claimed  priority  over  all  the  others. 

Among  the  incidental  expenses  was  Mrs.  Basing, 
of  the  "Three  Foresters."  In  the  chill  nights^of 
November  Guy  would  put  dowrn  his  pen,  and  go  to 
the  cheerful  public-house  half  a  mile  away  at  the 
cross  roads.  There  he  would  drink  ale ;  and 
Mrs.  Basing,  having  drawn  the  ale  with  her  own 
jewelled  hands,  would  take  a  glass  of  port  or  a 
whisky  and  soda  at  Guy's  expense.  Mrs.  Basing 
had  a  broad  vein  of  pleasantry  which  appealed  to 
Guy.  Ten  years  ago  she  was  beautiful.  To-day 
she  was  as  handsome  as  the  dentist  would  allow, 
and  she  had  a  presence  the  aspect  of  which  upon 
chilly  nights  was  comforting.  When  the  farmers 
of  the  district  went  to  London  they  brought  her 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  139 

chocolates  and  cigarettes.  She  amused  them  up 
to  a  point,  and  then  she  reminded  them  that  they 
were  married  men.  And  everybody  liked  her. 

§3 

Guy  was  not  unhappy  in  the  temporary  recovery 
of  his  singleness.  He  liked  to  kick  about  in  the 
large  tester  bed  of  the  attic  ;  to  read  books  by 
guttering  candle  light  far  into  the  night ;  to  rise 
now  and  then  and  put  his  head  out  of  the  window 
and  smell  the  damp  earth,  or  see  what  beast  it 
was  crunching  bones  under  the  wall.  He  liked  the 
evenings  at  the  "Three  Foresters."  He  liked  Mrs. 
Basing  with  her  finger  rings  and  her  broad  jests, 
her  astonishing  capacity  for  whiskies  and  sodas, 
and  her  unfailing  readiness  amid  the  give-and-take 
of  the  bar  parlour.  He  liked  his  occasional  visits 
to  Old  Place,  where  he  could  enjoy  a  civilised  dinner 
all  the  better  for  its  contrast  with  his  own  frugal 
and  rustic  life.  He  liked  his  visits  to  London  and 
his  occasional  nights  of  tobacco  and  talk  with 
Powicke  in  the  Hampstead  rooms.  He  liked  his 
long  hours  of  writing  or  meditation  in  the  cottage, 
so  quiet  that  he  could  hear  every  creature  that 
passed  in  the  woods.  He  liked  to  be  up  in  the 
dark  mornings,  kindling  a  wood  fire,  pottering 
with  the  breakfast  and  frying  rashers  of  ham.  He 
liked  his  occasional  rides  on  Lord  Melsham's 
horses,  and  the  night  calls  of  his  brother  in  the 
large  motor-car. 

He  missed  Sabina,  but  Sabina  would  return. 
He  wrote  to  her  almost  every  day,  describing  his 
life,  and  he  looked  eagerly  for  her  letters. 


140  THE  HAPPY  FOOL- 

Her  first  letter  was  the  longest  she  ever  wrote  : — 

My  dearest, 

I  arrived  here  safely  and  am  quite  comfortable. 
My  room  is  very  small  but  it  is  a  nice  room.  The  girls 
are  nice,  but,  Guy,  dear,  I  don't  think  they  are  really 
the  sort  you  want  me  to  be  like.  Miss  Pimbury  says 
I  shall  not  be  with  the  girls  for  long.  She  is  going  to 
make  me  a  kind  of  companion. 

Really,  I'm  not  much  with  the  girls.  Miss  Pimbury 
looks  after  me  quite  a  lot.  I  think  the  girls  are  so  funny 
when  they  talk  about  boys.  They  often  talk  about 
boys,  and  I  feel  such  a  fraud  being  married.  I  feel  I 
could  tell  them  such  lots,  but  I  only  listen.  They 
think  I'm  very  green  sometimes. 

It  sometimes  seems  too  funny  being  here  after  what 
we  have  done.  I  do  miss  you  so  much.  I  cried  a  little 
last  night. 

I  suppose  you're  surprised  I  haven't  written  before. 
But,  Guy,  I  can't  write  letters.  I  never  seem  to  have 
a  word  to  say  except  that  I  want  you  all  the  time.  I 
don't  think  I  should  like  the  cottage  very  much. 
I  hate  the  country,  really,  unless  it  is  by  the  sea ;  and 
with  all  those  trees  I  am  sure  I  should  feel  pokey. 
You  know  how  I  hate  the  trees.  Fancy  you  cooking 
your  own  breakfast. 

I  am  learning  quite  a  lot,  though  Miss  Pimbury 
doesn't  bother  me  much  about  that.  She  says  the 
best  way  to  learn  is  to  talk  to  people,  and  she  talks  to 
me  quite  a  lot.  She  came  and  sat  on  my  bed  last  night. 
She  looked  very  funny.  She  had  on  a  bright  pink 
dressing  gown  and  a  night  cap  with  lace  edging.  She 
talked  about  a  man  called  Ruskin.  Do  you  know 
anything  about  him,  Guy  ?  I  like  Miss  Pimbury 
awfully.  I've  told  her  how  ignorant  I  am.  She  says 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  141 

it  doesn't  matter  if  only  I  can  forget  it.  She  tucked 
me  up  last  night  and  said  it  was  a  shame.  I  can't 
make  her  out  sometimes. 

I  wish  I  could  kiss  you  good  night,  Guy,  but  then  it 
wouldn't  be  good  night,  would  it  ?  I  hope  you  won't 
be  angry  because  I  haven't  written  before,  but  writing 
seems  no  good  when  you've  nothing  to  saj'.  But  you 
must  write  to  me  even  if  I  don't  write  to  you.  I  am  so 
excited  when  I  have  a  letter,  that  I  can  hardly  wait  to 
read  it,  even  when  I'm  with  the  girls.  They  want  to 
know  who  my  young  man  is,  and  think  I'm  close  be- 
cause I  wont  tell.  Isn't  it  funny,  Guy  ? 

Now  I  must  stop,  Give  my  love  to  Theodore,  and 
tell  him  that  Miss  Pimbury  liked  him  very  much  when 
he  came  to  see  her. 

Your  own, 

SABINA. 

In  December  the  cottage  was  dark  in  the  late 
afternoon,  and  the  long  evenings  were  apt  to  be  over- 
long.  Often,  when  the  cottage  became  oppressive, 
he  would  walk  through  the  wet  woods  to  Old  Place, 
where  at  the  door  he  would  be  greeted  with  light 
and  warmth,  and  immediate  assurances  of  bright 
company  and  good  food.  Henderson  was  some- 
times there,  and  once  he  encountered  Marian, 
whom  Theodore  had  introduced  to  Lord  Melsham 
with  the  happiest  results.  Marian  was  at  Old 
Place  for  only  one  week-end.  She  played  the 
piano  with  Guy  by  request,  and  they  kept  each 
other  well  in  countenance  at  the  dinner-table. 
But  Marian  avoided  all  intimacy  with  Guy,  who 
felt  that  the  life  had  gone  out  of  their  friendship. 
He  resented  it,  and  obscurely  pressed  her  for  signs 
that  nothing  had  altered  for  the  worse  ;  but  she 


142  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

baffled  him  by  her  very  friendliness.  She  asked 
continually  after  his  work,  and  met  him 
halfway  on  all  the  topics  that  he  raised. 

§  4 

One  evening  Guy  was  playing  on  the  piano  in 
the  cottage  by  the  light  of  two  candles  in  the  piano 
brackets  (he  had  hired  the  piano  in  Tunbridge) 
when  he  heard  Lord  Melsham's  car  outside.  The 
car  stopped,  and  Guy  went  to  the  gate.  The  night 
was  dark,  and  the  bare  trees  were  only  a  little 
blacker  than  the  sky  in  the  small  open  space 
between  the  cottage  and  the  road.  Shading  his 
eyes  from  the  glare  of  the  car  headlights,  Guy 
walked  up  the  path.  Theodore  called  to  know  if 
he  were  there.  He  called  back  in  the  affirmative, 
and  hoped  loudly  and  cheerfully  that  Theodore 
would  take  him  on  to  dancing  and  delight.  He 
reached  the  gate  and  leant  over. 

"  Guy,"  said  Theodore  from  the  car,  "  I've 
brought  somebody  to  see  you." 

"  It's  dark  for  seeing,"  said  Guy. 

Theodore  swung  himself  out  of  the  car  and 
turned  to  help  someone  to  alight. 

A  moment  later  Sabina  stood  upon  the  road 
between  them. 

On  his  way  to  the  gate  Guy  had  savoured  all  the 
pleasant  associations  of  the  big  car  and  had  enjoyed 
in  advance  the  quick  dash  to  the  warmth  and  light 
of  the  house.  The  sudden  sight  of  Sabina  struck 
out  these  comfortable  visions.  In  their  place  he  felt 
a  sharp  anxiety  and  a  sense  that  his  responsibilities 
had  returned. 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  148 

"  Sabina,  dear,  what  on  earth  has  happened?  " 

She  put  out  her  hand  to  him  and  it  touched  his 
sleeve  in  the  dark. 

"  Aren't  you  glad  to  see  me,  Guy  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Give  him  time,"  said  Theodore  cheerfully. 
"  You've  surprised  him  out  of  his  life.  I  picked  her 
up  at  the  station,"  he  added  for  Guy's  information. 

Theodore's  speech  gave  Guy  time  to  feel  the 
effect  of  a  little  tremor  in  her  voice  when  she  asked 
him  if  he  were  glad. 

"  Am  I  glad  indeed  ?  "  he  exclaimed. 

'  We've  got  a  bag  in  the  car,"  said  Theodore, 
diving  back  into  the  limousine.  He  deposited  the 
bag  in  the  road. 

"  How  are  you  off  for  stores,  Guy  ?  "  he  enquired. 
"  Have  you  any  sort  of  fatted  calf  ?  Or  shall  I 
send  you  some  stuff  down  from  the  house  ?  " 

"  I've  got  enough,"  said  Guy. 

Sabina  was  hanging  on  Guy's  arm  with  one  hand. 
Theodore  squeezed  the  other  briefly  and  got  into 
the  car.  The  chauffeur  drove  rapidly  off,  and  the 
the  lamps,  suddenly  swinging  round  the  bend  of 
the  road,  left  them  in  darkness,  lit  only  by  two 
twinkling  points  of  light  in  the  cottage  room. 

Guy,  turning  away  from  visions  of  an  excellent 
dinner  and  much  cheerful  conversation  over  the 
port,  and  (for  usually  now  he  stayed  the  night) 
a  comfortable  retirement  to  bed  cheered  by  a 
crackling  fire  upon  the  bedroom  hearth,  looked  at 
the  glimmering  figure  by  his  side. 

"  I  hope  I  haven't  frightened  you,  coming  like 
this,  said  Sabina. 

"  What  is  it,  dear  ?  "  Guy  asked.  "  What  has 
happened  ?  " 


144  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

She  did  not  answer  him,  but  shivered  slightly. 

"Come  into  the  cottage,"  said  Guy,  "and  I  will 
light  a  fire  ;  I  hadn't  lit  one  for  myself  this  evening  ; 
but  I'll  soon  get  it  going." 

He  took  up  the  bag  and  they  went  down  the 
path  into  the  cottage.  Guy  shut  and  barred  the 
door  and  lit  the  lamp.  Then  he  came  to  Sabina. 

"  Let's  have  a  look  at  you,"  he  said. 

She  looked  pale  and  tired.  He  kissed  her,  and 
she  clung  to  him  a  moment.  Then  he  put  her  into 
a  chair  and  took  off  her  hat  for  her.  He  wrapped 
her  up  in  a  rug  and  told  her  to  sit  still  while  he  lit 
the  fire.  She  sat  silently  watching  him  as  he 
kindled  the  wood  and  piled  on  the  coals.  In  a  few 
moments  the  room  looked  more  cheerful. 

"  Are  you  really  glad  to  have  me  back  ?  "  she 
asked,  as  he  returned  from  the  scullery  wiping  his 
hands. 

"  Of  course  I'm  glad,"  said  Guy.  "  I'm  just 
getting  used  to  it." 

He  sat  on  the  edge  of  her  chair,  finishing  himself 
off  with  the  towel. 

"  You're  looking  tired,"  he  said.  "  Don't  talk, 
but  just  let  me  get  the  supper.  I'm  very  good  at 
housework." 

She  watched  him  as  he  produced  a  cloth  and  laid 
the  table.  Her  eyes  followed  him  to  and  fro  as 
he  boiled  milk  and  eggs  and  fetched  honey  and 
butter  from  the  pantry.  How  kind  he  was  !  And 
yet  her  welcome  was  not  exactly  what  she  had 
desired.  She  had  hoped  for  a  sudden  outburst  of 
delighted  astonishment,  but  perhaps  that  was 
unreasonable.  He  was  naturally  anxious  to  know 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  145 

what  had  happened,  and  yet  he  gave  her  all  the 
time  she  needed  in  which  to  tell  him.  At  one  time 
she  had  feared  he  might  be  angry. 

He  came  to  her  at  last,  and,  putting  his  arm 
round  her  shoulders,  invited  her  to  supper.  The 
fire  was  blazing,  and  Guy  lit  some  extra  candles. 
The  small  room  looked  comfortable  now,  and 
Sabina,  who  was  really  hungry,  removed  her  coat 
and  came  to  the  table. 

Guy  described  his  life  in  the  cottage,  and  talked 
generally  at  random,  stifling  the  question  which 
arose  continually.  Why  had  Sabina  returned  ? 
He  divined  that  she  wanted  to  choose  her  time  in 
which  to  speak. 

When  supper  was  finished,  Guy  drew  an  old 
horse-hair  sofa  before  the  fire,  and  they  sat  together 
warming  themselves. 

At  last  Guy  said  :  "  Won't  you  tell  me  now  why 
you've  come  home  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer. 

"  Homesick  ?  "  Guy  enquired. 

"  A  little,"  said  Sabina.  "  But  it's  not  that/' 
she  added  almost  at  once. 

'  Tell  me,"  Guy  insisted. 

She  looked  at  him  as  though  she  were  pleading 
to  be  spared  the  need  to  say  something. 

"  Can't  you  guess,  Guy  ?  "  she  asked. 

There  was  something  unusual  in  her  eyes  which 
startled  him  for  a  moment.  "  Are  you  ill  ?  "  he 
enquired. 

"  No,  Guy,  I'm  not  ill,  not  really."  Then,  after 
a  silence,  she  added  without  looking  at  him : 
"  Guy,  I'm  going  to  have  a  baby." 


146  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

§  5 

Both  realised  that  this  should  have  been  a  great 
moment  in  their  lives.  Sabina  looked  up,  and  their 
eyes  met  in  a  mutual  enquiry.  The  enquiry  was 
answered  almost  before  it  was  read.  The  great 
moment  had  passed  them  by.  It  had  come  too 
soon,  and  they  were  both  too  young  and  unprepared. 
It  came  almost  as  a  misadventure.  They  had  not 
allowed  for  it.  It  destroyed  a  plan  carefully  laid 
and  only  just  beginning  to  mature.  There  was 
even  an  absurd  side  to  it.  Sabina,  who  had  pre- 
tended to  be  a  schoolgirl,  was  about  to  be  a  mother. 
There  was  further,  for  Guy,  involuntarily  the  sense 
of  an  immense  addition  to  his  responsibilities. 
The  conspiracy  had  thickened  which  seemed  deter- 
mined to  make  him  old  before  he  had  been  young. 
For  Sabina  it  had  already  meant  a  flight  precipitate 
and  unexplained  from  her  school,  and  a  secret  fear 
that  Guy  would  not  be  pleased.  For  a  while  they 
were  silent.  Then  in  Guy  there  prevailed  a  feeling 
that  more  than  ever  was  Sabina  to  be  helped  and 
cherished.  After  her  quick  glance  of  enquiry 
towards  him  she  looked  away  and  remained  with 
her  eyes  downcast.  Guy  had  even  more  vividly 
than  ever  a  sense  of  her  girlishness.  She  was  too 
young  to  be  a  mother.  The  compassion,  which 
had  hurried  him  into  his  marriage,  sprang  alive 
in  him  once  more.  He  lost  his  feeling  of  bewilder- 
ment and  revolt ;  and,  when  next  she  looked  at 
him,  she  saw  in  him  all  the  tenderness  she  desired. 

They  sat  together  for  a  long  while  talking  of  the 
time  they  had  spent  apart,  and  a  little,  now  and 
then,  of  the  event  to  come.  But  of  this  they  were 
as  yet  shy.  They  came  to  it  unwillingly  and  after 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  147 

long  diversions.  Sabina  could  say  little  about  it, 
except  that  she  desired  to  be  cared  for  more  than 
ever  before,  and  Guy  could  only  assure  her  that 
he  had  never  more  dearly  loved  her. 


CHAPTER  VI 

§  i 

SOME  six  weeks  after  Sabina  returned  from 
school  she  sat  with  Guy  in  the  living  room  of 
the  cottage  discussing  a  note  which  had  come  that 
morning  from  Old  Place.  They  had  finished  their 
tea,  and  were  enjoying  the  last  of  the  fire. 

Guy  had  by  this  time  got  used  to  the  idea  that 
he  was  shortly  to  be  a  father.  They  had  often 
talked  of  it,  often  with  curiosity,  sometimes  with 
excitement,  and  occasionally  with  a  quaint  sense 
of  the  fun  it  would  be  to  have  a  baby  of  their  own. 
Sabina  listened  mostly,  and  it  was  Guy  who  talked. 
So  far  she  had  failed  to  feel  the  event  very  deeply 
except  as  it  affected  her  relationship  with  Guy. 
When  she  thought  of  it  as  a  link  between  them, 
she  rejoiced ;  but  there  were  times  when  she 
regarded  it  as  an  intrusion  for  which  they  were 
not  yet  ripe,  and  which  might  further  complicate 
their  problem.  She  could  not  put  this  feeling  into 
words,  but,  more  than  ever,  she  craved  for  Guy 
continually  to  express  his  affection. 

Guy  was  trying  to  persuade  her  to  come  with 
him  that  evening  to  Old  Place.  The  note  they 
were  discussing  was  an  invitation  to  dinner  from 
Lady  Melsham  ;  and,  for  the  third  time  that  day, 
Sabina  said  she  would  not  go.  She  had  stubbornly 
refused  to  go  to  Old  Place  in  spite  of  frequent 

148 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  149 

invitations  and  a  personal  call  from  Lady  Melsham. 
'  You  must  go,  Guy,"  she  said,  "  but  I  should 
be  frightened  to  death.  Besides,  I've  got  nothing 
to  wear,"  she  added. 

She  tried  not  to  feel  bitter  about  it.  Guy  had 
been  very  kind  to  her  during  the  last  few  weeks. 
He  had  made  unfailing  fun  of  their  country  hard- 
ships ;  he  had  waited  on  her  continually ;  his 
absences  in  town  had  been  short  and  few.  No  one 
had  come  between  them.  They  had  lived  happily 
by  themselves,  seeing  only  the  woman  who  came 
to  work  for  them,  and  Theodore  as  he  passed 
occasionally  in  the  car. 

When  the  evening  came,  and  Guy  was  putting 
on  the  clothes  which  somehow  always  made  him 
something  of  a  stranger,  Sabina  watched  him  with 
an  occasional  bitter  sense  of  neglect.  She  didn't 
want  to  go,  but  she  wished  he  had  not  so  easily 
agreed  that  she  should  remain  at  home.  She  tied 
his  white  bow  for  him,  and  buttoned  his  cheerful 
waistcoat  by  the  light  of  a  flickering  candle,  and 
pitied  herself  because  she  had  to  send  him  away 
to  the  warmth  and  jollity  which  she  had  refused 
to  share  with  him. 

"  Have  a  good  time,  dear,"  she  said,  from  the 
gate,  as  Guy  prepared  to  walk  off  along  the  frosty 
road. 

"  No  doubt  about  the  good  time  !  "  Guy  gaily 
answered. 

Already  he  tasted  the  delights  of  civilised  inter- 
course after  his  prolonged  hibernation. 

He  need  not  have  been  so  awfully  pleased  about 
it,  thought  Sabina,  as  she  turned  away. 


150  THE  HAPPY  FOOT, 

Then  she  saw  him  coming  back  to  her.  Some- 
thing forlorn  in  the  figure  at  the  gate  had  struck 
across  his  joyous  anticipation. 

"  I  wish  you  were  coming,  too,"  he  said. 

"  It's  my  own  fault,  Guy." 

"  Don't  be  lonely,"  he  helpfully  advised  her. 

"  I  shan't  have  time  to  be  lonely,"  she  said. 
"  There's  the  washing  up,  and  my  skirt  which  has 
to  be  altered." 

"Altered?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Sabina  resentfully,  "  it's  getting 
tighter  every  day." 

Guy  assured  her  that  he  would  not  be  late. 

"  Don't  bother  about  me,"  said  Sabina. 

He  kissed  her  good-night,  and  told  her  to  go 
early  to  bed. 

§   2 

About  half  an  hour  later,  Sabina,  surprised  by 
an  unexpected  illumination,  saw  that  Lord  Mel- 
sham's  car  was  at  the  gate.  As  she  went  up  the 
path  Theodore  put  his  head  out  and  asked  whether 
she  and  Guy  were  ready.  She  said  briefly  that 
Guy  was  walking  to  Old  Place,  and  that  she  was 
not  feeling  well  enough  to  come.  Theodore  ex- 
pressed concern,  and  argued  with  her  for  a  while ; 
and  someone  else,  whom  she  could  not  see,  added 
some  further  kind  inquiries.  Sabina,  with  a  pang, 
recognised  the  voice  of  Marian.  Theodore  switched 
on  the  light  inside  the  car.  Sabina  saw  Marian 
leaning  forward,  wonderfully  elegant,  and  found 
herself  ungraciously  responding  to  friendly  ad- 
vances. She  knew  that  Marian  was  trying  to 
discover  whether  Guy  had  left  her  quite  alone  at 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  151 

the  cottage.  She  was  moved  to  pretend  that  she 
was  accompanied  that  night  by  the  woodcutter's 
wife.  Marian's  anxiety  seemed  somehow  to  reflect 
upon  Guy.  Such  impertinence  could  not  be 
tolerated. 

During  the  next  hour  Sabina  brooded  continually 
upon  Guy  among  his  distinguished  friends.  "  I'd 
like  to  see  him  among  them  all,"  she  thought. 

The  idea  grew  upon  her  as  she  ate  her  supper. 
The  notion  came  to  her  first  as  a  spasm  of  curiosity, 
touched  with  the  jealousy  to  which  she  was  so 
easily  moved.  But,  as  the  evening  wore  on,  and 
she  finished  the  small  tasks  she  had  set  herself, 
there  grew  upon  her  an  unusual  nervousness,  and 
a  desire,  different  from  anything  she  had  felt  before, 
for  Guy's  company.  She  had  a  fear  of  something 
which  seemed  about  to  happen  :  a  need  of  pro- 
tection and  human  companionship.  She  did  not 
want  to  be  surprised  by  this  lurking  fate  in  the 
lonely  cottage.  The  thought  of  the  big  house,  and 
the  warmth  and  company  in  which  she  would  find 
Guy,  became  an  obsession.  She  didn't  want  to 
be  there,  full  in  the  light,  but  to  be  near  at  hand. 

A  little  later  she  began  almost  mechanically  to 
put  on  a  warm  coat  and  some  wraps.  She  left  the 
cottage  and  took  the  path  which  led  to  Old  Place 
by  way  of  the  woods.  Soon  she  almost  repented 
of  her  vague  design.  It  was  bright  moonlight,  and, 
though  the  path  was  distinct,  the  shapes  of  the 
trees  were  terrifying  and  the  darker  spaces  were 
caverns  of  fear.  But  she  was  urged  forward  by 
curious  hysterical  visions  in  which  Guy  appeared 
surrounded  by  companies  of  fair  women,  oblivious 


152  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

of  her  and  of  all  the  sickness  and  anxiety  with 
which  she  had  been  struggling  during  the  last 
months  ;  and  he  was  far  away  from  her  —  very  far 
away,  and  at  all  costs  to  be  reached.  With  this 
urgent  impulse  towards  Guy  was  mingled  a  sharper 
uneasiness  than  she  had  ever  felt  before  concerning 
the  unborn  child  she  carried. 

In  one  of  the  open  glades  to  be  crossed  stood  a 
large  beech  whose  smooth  trunk  stood  white  in 
the  moon.  There  was  something  ghostly  in  its 
attitude.  As  she  passed  beside  it,  Sabina  shud- 
dered, for,  with  its  stretched  arms,  it  seemed  alive, 
and  she  half  expected  it  to  step  across  her  path 
and  embrace  her  with  its  shining  and  smooth  limbs. 
She  gave  a  cry  as  a  bramble  tugged  at  her  dress 
and  brought  her  to  her  knees.  It  seemed  as 
though  the  tree  had  caught  her. 

Her  heart  was  beating  violently  as  she  came  out 
into  the  full  moonlight  and  stood  looking  at  the 
house. 

From  where  she  stood  she  could  see  that  certain 
windows  which  gave  upon  the  terrace  were  lighted. 

The  curtains  were  drawn,  but  at  one  of  the 
windows  they  did  not  meet,  and  she  could  see 
figures  passing  to  and  fro  behind  them.  All  was 
quiet  in  the  garden  and  on  the  terrace  itself. 

Half  to  escape  the  wood,  which  lay  cold  and 
threatening  behind  her,  and  half  to  satisfy  her 
growing  curiosity,  she  slipped  over  the  lawn  and 
mounted  the  terrace.  She  went  to  the  window 
and  looked  in,  supporting  herself  as  she  leant 
forward  by  holding  on  to  the  rim  of  a  large  stone 
vase  containing  evergreens.  From  a  gap  in  the 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  1S3 

curtains  she  saw  that  the  guests  were  taking 
dessert.  Her  eyes  were  held  for  a  moment  by  the 
small  details  which  to  her  were  novel  and  un- 
expected, the  little  silver  lamp  beside  Lord 
Melsham  for  lighting  cigarettes,  the  rose  petals 
floating  in  the  finger-bowls,  the  lace  mats  on  the 
polished  table  in  which  the  glass  and  silver  mir- 
rored themselves.  She  noted  that  the  table  was 
lit  with  real  candles,  and  that  the  rest  of  the  room 
was  in  shadow  except  where  a  hidden  frieze  of 
lights  threw  soft  gleams  upon  the  ceiling,  or  where 
the  surface  of  one  or  two  old  pictures  was  especially 
illuminated  from  small  brackets  which  flung  their 
rays  on  to  the  canvas. 

And  then  she  saw  Guy.  He  was  talking  vivaci- 
ously to  a  girl  in  white.  Sabina  noted  with  resent- 
ment that  the  girl  could  talk,  and  that  Guy  was 
amused.  She  noticed  with  satisfaction  that  the 
girl  was  plain.  Theodore  she  perceived  at  the  end 
of  the  table  on  the  right  of  a  stately  lady  in 
black  silk  with  a  string  of  pearls  round  her  neck. 
That  must  be  Lady  Melsham.  Marian  was 
at  the  opposite  end  on  the  right  of  Lord 
Melsham. 

A  gust  of  wind  came  up  from  the  wood — a 
whimper  which  grew  and  spread  as  it  neared  the 
terrace.  Sabina  turned  defensively  towards  the 
sound.  It  seemed  to  have  in  it  something  of  the 
malevolent  life  of  the  naked  beech  which,  she 
imagined,  had  caught  at  her  as  she  passed.  She 
had  a  poignant  sense  of  insecurity,  standing  between 
the  hostility  of  the  blind  trees  and  of  the  house  from 
which  she  was  excluded.  She  waited  for  the  sound 


154  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

to  die  away,  and  then  turned  again  to  the  window. 
She  saw  that  the  ladies  had  risen  and  were  about 
to  withdraw  from  the  room  ;  but  she  barely  had 
time  to  see  what  was  happening  when  again  a 
sound  was  formed  in  the  wood.  As  it  grew  louder 
she  bade  herself  be  firm  and  disregard  it.  The 
feeling  grew  almost  to  anguish  that  something  was 
stealing  up  from  the  wood  behind  her.  She  felt 
its  breath  on  the  nape  of  her  neck.  Trembling 
violently,  she  turned  at  last,  and  seemed  to  see  the 
whole  of  the  wood  move  under  her  eyes.  At  the 
same  time,  she  felt  under  her  heart  a  stir  and 
flutter  as  of  something  alive.  The  wood  swayed  a 
moment  and  hesitated,  and  then  suddenly  it  was 
marching  towards  her,  growing  bigger  and  blacker 
as  it  came.  At  last  it  blotted  out  the  view  and 
closed  upon  her.  She  had  a  sense  of  falling  and  of 
being  engulfed,  the  smell  of  earth  and  green  leaves 
testifying  to  the  fact  that  the  trees  had  got  her  at 
last. 

§  3 

Within  the  house,  Marian  was  passing  a  window 
on  her  way  to  the  dining  room  door,  when  she 
heard  a  crash  outside.  She  caught  up  the  curtain 
and  saw  that  a  woman  had  fainted,  pulling  down 
upon  herself  a  large  stone  vase  which  had  been 
shattered  and  had  thrown  its  contents  all  about  her. 
She  hurried  after  Lady  Melsham.  Her  quick  mind 
leapt  at  the  identity  of  the  woman,  and  her  first 
impulse  was  to  save  the  position  for  Guy.  Sabina 
had  been  left  alone,  and  the  poor  girl  had  come  to 
see  what  he  was  doing.  Guy  would  be  made 
ridiculous.  Something  might  even  be  said  of  the 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  155 

callousness  of  leaving  a  young  wife  alone  and 
without  help  at  a  time  when  she  needed  special  care. 

She  caught  Lady  Melsham,  and  whispered 
urgently  what  she  had  seen  and  what  she  expected. 

Issuing  orders  as  she  passed,  Lady  Melsham 
hurried  with  Marian  from  the  dining  room. 

§  4 

Sabina  recovered  under  Marian's  eyes  and  in 
Marian's  room  at  Old  Place.  People  were  busy 
about  her.  Her  dress  had  been  loosened  and  she 
felt  deathly  cold.  On  seeing  Marian,  she  in- 
stinctively closed  her  eyes,  and,  realising  what  had 
happened,  groped  for  an  explanation  of  her  presence 
on  the  terrace  where  they  must  have  found  her. 
This  explanation,  however,  could  wait.  She  must 
lie  still  for  a  little  while,  till  her  body  was  warm 
again  and  she  had  been  a  little  restored  by  the 
comfort  and  security  of  this  pleasant  room.  Soon 
she  would  tell  them  that  she  had  been  for  a  walk 
in  the  wood  and  had  lost  her  way.  She  had  come 
upon  the  house  by  chance,  and  was  about  to  call. 
That  was  the  right  story.  Of  course,  she  was 
coming  to  call.  Why  shouldn't  she  call  at  Old 
Place  ?  It  was,  she  seemed  to  remember,  rather 
late  for  a  call.  She  remembered  how,  when  some- 
one had  come  to  Fern  Cottage  at  six  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon,  Aunt  Helen  had  said  that  six  o'clock 
was  late. 

She  wondered  if  Marian  had  been  part  of  her 
hallucination  when  she  had  fainted.  She  opened 
her  eyes  again. 

Someone  with  a  kind  voice  was  talking  about  her. 


156  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

"  This  fainting,"  said  the  voice,  "  is  not  at  all 
unusual." 

"  I  suppose  she  ought  not  to  have  been  left 
alone  ?  " 

She  recognised  Marian's  voice. 

"  How  was  the  boy  to  know  ?  They  are  both 
of  them  too  young  to  know  anything  at  all.  Has 
she  any  married  women  friends  ?  " 

"  She  has  no  friends,"  said  Marian.  "  I  did  my 
best." 

Sabina's  lids  fluttered,  and  she  knew,  though  she 
did  not  see,  that  the  woman  with  the  kind  voice 
was  cautioning  Marian  to  be  silent.  She  opened  her 
eyes  wide  and  asked  where  she  was,  because  she 
thought  that  that  was  the  usual  thing  to  say  on 
recovering  from  a  faint. 

Marian  bent  over  her. 

'  You're  in  my  room,  Sabina,  in  Lady  Melsham's 
house.  Did  you  lose  your  way  in  the  wood  ?  " 

Sabina  stared  at  her,  and  under  her  dark  eyes 
Marian  flinched. 

'  Yes,"  said  Sabina  at  last.  "  I  lost  my  way  in 
the  wood." 

Instinctively  they  understood  one  another. 
Marian  had  desired  to  offer  an  excuse  for  Sabina's 
presence  which  would  save  Guy  any  unnecessary 
humiliation.  Sabina  was  willingly  her  accomplice, 
even  as  she  wondered  at  the  revelation  here  offered 
of  Marian's  solicitude.  Sabina  accepted  the  excuse. 
Guy  should  not  be  exposed  to  ridicule  or  reproach 
as  a  man  whose  wife  came  to  spy  at  him  through 
a  crack  in  the  curtains.  But  what  right  had 
Marian  to  concern  herself  in  this  ?  Sabina  re- 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  157 

membered  a  look  she  had  stolen  at  Guy  over  the 
dinner  table  as  she  had  watched  her  through  the 
window  :  and  there,  facing  her  on  the  little  table 
beside  Marian's  bed,  was  Guy's  photograph. 

All  this  passed  in  a  moment,  and,  in  the  moment 
that  followed,  Marian  was  indicating  Lady  Mel- 
sham. 

"  Don't  try  to  talk  to  us,  child,"  said  Lady 
Melsham.  "  You  must  stay  here  for  the  night. 
I  am  having  a  room  made  ready,  and  Guy  shall 
come  to  you." 

"  Can't  I  go  home  ?  "  said  Sabina. 

"  Out  of  the  question  to-night,"  said  Lady 
Melsham.  "  My  maid  shall  put  you  to  bed." 

Sabina's  eyes  widened  with  apprehension.  How 
is  one  put  to  bed  by  a  maid  ?  She  would  die  of 
confusion. 

"I'd  rather  go  home,"  she  said. 

"  I  couldn't  possibly  allow  that,"  said  Lady 
Melsham  firmly. 

A  trim  young  person  in  a  lace  apron  came  into 
the  room. 

"  I  think  we  might  move  her  now." 

Sabina  submitted  without  another  word.  Marian 
and  Lady  Melsham  watched  the  transfer,  asked  her 
how  she  felt,  and  were  busily  kind.  On  leaving, 
Lady  Melsham  told  her  to  send  word  if  she  desired 
anything. 

Sabina,  alone  with  the  maid,  lost  no  time  in 
demonstrating  that  she  was  well  enough  to  attend 
to  herself  ;  and  the  maid,  who  was  a  person  of 
discretion,  suggested  that  madam  would  perhaps 
ring  if  she  required  any  assistance,  and  that,  in  the 


158  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

meantime,  some  hot  arrowroot  would  be  prepared 
in  the  kitchen.  Sabina,  left  to  herself,  undressed 
and  went  rapidly  to  bed. 

Guy,  on  coming  into  the  drawing-room  after  a 
long  session  over  the  port,  was  quietly  informed  by 
Lady  Melsham  that  his  wife  was  upstairs.  Lady 
Melsham  conducted  him  to  the  room,  telling  him 
on  the  way  that  Sabina,  walking  in  the  wood,  had 
fainted,  fortunately  near  enough  to  the  house  to 
be  immediately  discovered.  She  told  him  not  to 
worry  too  much  about  it.  It  was  an  entirely 
natural  thing  for  his  wife  to  faint  in  the  circum- 
stances. 

§  5 

Guy  found  Sabina  propped  on  pillows,  eating  a 
basin  of  arrow-root.  The  mild  light  of  the  room 
spared  the  gauntness  of  her  face  ;  her  plaits  hung 
down  in  the  familiar  way  ;  and  her  prettiness,  to 
which  Guy  was  not  even  yet  accustomed,  was 
accentuated  by  the  daintiness  in  which  she  was 
embosomed. 

Guy  was  not  deceived  by  Sabina's  casual 
promenade  in  the  wood.  As  soon  as  he  heard  of 
her  presence  in  the  house,  he  knew  what  had 
happened.  In  his  anxiety  and  compunction  he 
spared  only  a  fleeting  thought  for  the  way  in  which 
appearances  had  been  saved. 

He  came  straight  towards  her,  and  sat  beside 
her  on  the  bed.  Sabina  began  to  explain,  but  he 
checked  her  at  once,  and  she  saw  that  no  explana- 
tion was  needed.  He  had  come  to  know  her 
capacity  for  self-torment  and  to  anticipate  the 
impulses  to  which  it  occasionally  drove  her.  To- 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  159 

night  he  only  felt  that  he  had  been  cruel  to  leave 
her  alone.  He  forbade  her  to  talk,  and  sat  with 
her,  telling  her  things  about  the  house  and  the 
people.  Sabina  submitted,  and,  overcome  by  a 
great  weariness,  lay  among  the  pillows  watching 
the  fire,  allowing  herself  to  sink  back,  enjoying  the 
comfort  so  abundantly  found  for  her. 

When  Lady  Melsham  came  to  bring  him  down 
from  the  room,  she  found  Guy  watching  his  wife 
as  one  watches  a  child  who  has  been  put  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  VII 

§  i 

SOME  four  months  later,  in  the  late  spring, 
Sabina's  baby  was  born.  Guy  was  beginning 
to  realise  that  childbirth  must  be  rather  painful  and 
to  feel  sick  at  heart  as  he  sat  in  the  room  below, 
or  wandered  out  of  the  cottage,  when  the  doctor 
came  down  and  announced  that  he  had  a  son. 
Called  to  Sabina  a  little  later,  his  revolt  against 
the  savage  processes  of  nature  was  further  stimu- 
lated by  the  sight  of  his  young  wife  lying  exanimate 
on  the  bed  with  haunted  eyes,  and  lips  which  smiled 
only  because  there  was  at  last  a  respite.  He  re- 
sented the  anxiety  of  the  nurse  to  put  the  baby 
into  his  arms,  and  her  obvious  expectation  that  he 
would  be  deeply  stirred  by  the  queer  bundle  she 
offered.  It  was  Sabina  he  wanted  to  see,  and  he 
was  not  yet  ready  to  respond  to  this  other  appeal. 
The  nurse  praised  the  baby,  as  an  expert,  while 
Sabina  and  Guy  exchanged  looks.  Apparently  it 
was  a  beautiful  baby.  But  how  was  Guy  to  know 
that  ?  He  had  never  seen  a  new-born  baby,  and 
had  no  standard  whereby  to  measure  the  perfection 
of  his  own.  He  could  only  feel  at  this  moment 
that  Sabina  had  suffered  ;  see  only  that  she  had 
come  back  to  him  from  some  underworld  of  anguish 
and  terror  ;  and  be  struck  to  the  heart  with  the 
air  she  had  of  being  herself  but  a  child,  with  her 

160 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  161 

hair  plaited  and  her  nerveless  arms  lying  straight 
beside  her.  He  wanted  to  tell  the  nurse  to  take 
the  baby  away  and  look  after  it  till  Sabina  was 
really  old  enough  to  be  a  mother. 

Then  he  noted  that  Sabina's  eyes  were  on  the 
baby,  and  he  suddenly  realised  that  somehow  she 
had  already  begun  to  love  this  small  creature  which 
up  to  twenty-four  hours  ago  she  had  thought  about 
as  an  unexpected  and  disconcerting  intruder  into 
their  lives.  He  looked  at  the  baby  himself. 

"  It's  very  pink,"  he  said  to  the  nurse. 

"  He's  a  beautiful  colour,"  replied  the  nurse. 
She  slightly  stressed  the  personal  pronoun. 

"  When  will  it  open  its  eyes  ?  "  he  asked  ner- 
vously. 

"  Puppies  take  nine  days,"  he  added,  un- 
expectedly. 

He  disliked  the  abominable  woman  who  ap- 
parently expected  him  to  forget  that  he  had  heard 
Sabina  crying  out  in  torment  not  an  hour  ago. 

The  nurse  shut  her  lips  and  took  back  the  child 
into  her  appreciative  arms.  Guy,  released  from 
his  responsibilities  as  a  father,  turned  to  the  bed 
and  floated  a  moment  in  the  dark  eyes  of  the  girl 
who  lay  there  so  quietly.  She  did  not  move  when 
he  bent  to  kiss  her,  but  her  eyes  deepened  and  her 
smile  widened  under  his  lips.  On  leaving  her  he 
lifted  her  hand,  heavy  as  a  dead  limb,  to  his  cheek, 
and  laid  it  back  gently  on  the  quilt. 

Those  few  moments  in  the  room  with  Sabina 
were  a  foretaste  of  the  period  of  Sabina's  recovery 
and  restoration  to  normal  life.  For  Guy,  during 
these  weeks,  the  birth  of  Raymond  (as  the  baby 


162  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

was  named)  was  an  event  which  derived  im- 
portance from  the  fact  that  it  had  made  Sabina 
suffer  and  had  added  to  her  care.  He  did  not 
realise  how  quickly  she  herself  forgot  the  suffering. 
On  the  other  hand  he  soon  perceived  that  she 
loved  the  baby,  and  was  happy  to  observe  that 
she  found  in  it  a  distraction  which  relieved  the 
strain  of  the  first  days  of  their  marriage. 

This  distraction  even  enabled  her  for  a  few 
weeks  to  accept  the  advances  of  Marian,  who 
visited  her  from  Old  Place  and  worshipped  at  the 
feet  of  a  child  so  incredibly  beautiful.  Guy  was 
strangely  gratified  by  the  uncommon  praise  be- 
stowed upon  his  son,  but  his  time  had  not  yet 
come  to  feel  like  a  father.  He  was  mainly  anxious 
that  Sabina  should  not  unduly  sacrifice  herself. 
He  became  expert  in  minor  ministrations  to  the 
child  in  order  that  she  might  as  far  as  possible  be 
spared. 

§    2 

Marian  was  often  at  Old  Place,  and,  often  when 
she  was  there,  she  came  through  the  wood  to 
Brambletye.  Sometimes  Theodore  was  with  her, 
and  on  these  occasions  Sabina  watched  them 
curiously.  She  was  abnormally  sensitive  to  the 
slightest  impressions  where  her  love  for  Guy  was 
involved,  and  she  noted  in  Marian,  when  Theodore 
was  present,  the  attitude  of  unconscious  defence  to 
be  observed  in  women  who  begin  to  suspect  they 
are  loved,  but  have  not  yet  faced  the  possibility 
of  a  declaration.  Sabina,  who  had  long  perceived 
that  Theodore  loved  Marian,  felt  that  he  would 
shortly  declare  himself,  and  she  waited  for  the 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  168 

event  with  an  ungovernable  desire  that  Marian 
would  take  him. 

"  But  she  won't,"  she  told  herself  bitterly,  "  not 
while  there's  a  chance  of  Guy." 

Sabina  felt  obscurely  that,  as  long  as  Guy  lived, 
there  was  a  chance  for  Marian,  and  that,  if  Marian 
refused  Theodore,  it  would  be  because  she  was 
instinctively  keeping  herself  free.  Her  refusal 
would  be,  as  it  were,  a  proclamation  that  she  would 
wait  all  her  life  for  Guy ;  and,  who  knows  ? — 
perhaps  destiny  was  in  this  case  on  the  side  of  the 
woman  who  waited. 

Sabina's  uneasiness  in  regard  to  Marian  was 
more  than  a  personal  jealousy.  It  arose  from  her 
deep  distrust  of  all  the  memories  and  influences 
that  divided  her  from  Guy.  Because  she  could  not 
hold  him  quietly  and  continually,  she  feared  to 
lose  him  as  soon  as  he  ceased  to  surround  her  with 
proofs  of  his  affection.  If  he  were  absent,  she  was 
losing  him,  and  if  he  were  present,  she  was  losing 
him,  unless  she  was  actively  troubling  his  peace. 
She  did  not  really  believe  that  he  was  in  love 
with  Marian.  But  Marian  was  part  of  that 
world  outside,  to  which  he  escaped  when  the  circle 
of  her  arms  was  broken. 

Frequently,  when  summer  had  begun  to  thicken 
the  shadows  of  the  wood,  Guy  accompanied 
Marian  back  to  Old  Place.  Sabina  would  on  these 
occasions  wait  for  him  at  the  window  of  her  room, 
wondering  why  each  time  was  longer  than  the  last. 
There  were  nights  when  he  failed  to  return  for 
several  hours.  His  time  to  linger  came  when,  after 
bidding  Marian  good-night,  he  found  himself 


164  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

drawing  near  to  the  cottage  on  his  return.  He 
could  see  Sabina's  lighted  window  as  he  drew  near. 
His  steps  fell  more  slowly,  and  soon  he  would  come 
to  a  stand  under  the  trees. 

Instinctively  he  postponed  a  renewal  of  that 
sense  of  strain  which  he  never  ceased,  in  a  greater 
or  less  degree,  to  feel  in  Sabina's  company.  He 
hesitated  to  resume  a  life  which  was  too  intense. 
His  nerves  sought  rest  out  of  her  company,  and 
the  mild  walks  with  Marian  to  Old  Place  gave  just 
sufficient  respite  to  make  him  crave  for  a  further 
tranquillity.  Entering  Sabina's  room,  after  these 
delays,  he  would  at  once  be  conscious  of  a  strain 
renewed  as  she  turned  to  him  her  eyes  big  with 
inquiry. 

Guy's  work  in  London  during  this  period  was 
intermittent.  He  went  to  town  usually  about 
twice  a  week.  Often,  when  his  work  was  done, 
and  he  could  be  of  no  help  to  Sabina  in  the  cottage, 
he  went  to  the  Three  Foresters  ;  and  on  more  than 
one  occasion  he  returned  from  the  care  of  Mrs. 
Basing  in  abnormally  good  spirits.  Sabina  accom- 
panied him  once  to  the  inn  and  was  introduced. 
She  promptly  added  Mrs.  Basing  to  the  number  of 
persons  she  disliked  ;  and,  when  Guy  came  home  in 
a  cheerful  mood,  she  was  quick  to  suspect  the  bright 
lady  with  the  finger-rings  and  the  draughts  which 
she  so  liberally  dispensed. 

§.3 

Upon  a  warm  blue  day  towards  the  end  of 
September  Sabina  was  preparing  tea  in  the  cottage 
when  Theodore  appeared  in  the  doorway.  Sabina 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  165 

asked  in  a  whisper  (for  Raymond  was  asleep  in 
a  sheltered  corner  of  the  room)  whether  he  were 
alone.  He  said  he  had  come  suddenly  down  from 
London.  He  had  inquired  for  Marian  at  Old  Place  ; 
but  he  had  been  informed  that  she  had  left  for  the 
cottage. 

"  She  isn't  here,"  said  Sabina. 

"  He's  come  to  propose,"  she  added  to  herself. 

"  She  started  over  an  hour  ago,"  said  Theodore. 
"  Perhaps  she  has  missed  her  way  in  the  wood." 

"  She  ought  to  know  it  well  enough,"  said 
Sabina. 

She  said  this  in  the  tone  of  one  who  makes  an 
accusation,  and  Theodore  looked  at  her  a  little 
curiously. 

He  entered  the  cottage  and  admired  the  sleeping 
Raymond.  At  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  he 
pulled  out  his  watch,  and  wondered  again  what 
had  become  of  Marian.  Sabina,  with  a  hard 
smile,  said  she  also  was  beginning  to  wonder 
where  Marian  could  be  and  what  had  become  of 
Guy. 

"  Perhaps  they  are  under  the  great  beech,"  she 
said,  slanting  a  steady  look  at  Theodore. 

"  Why  under  the  great  beech  ?  "  Theodore 
inquired. 

"  They're  rather  fond  of  it,"  said  Sabina. 

Sabina  had  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that 
Marian  was  with  Guy  in  the  wood.  She  saw  them 
clairvoyantly  sitting  under  the  great  beech,  talking 
at  ease,  oblivious  of  the  passing  time.  There  was 
no  reason  why  she  should  think  of  the  great  beech, 
except  that  she  hated  it,  and  that  she  had  heard 


166  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

them  both  praise  it  and  the  glade  in  which  it  stood. 
Theodore's  appearance  at  the  cottage,  alone  and 
looking  for  Marian,  who,  Sabina  was  sure,  must 
even  now  be  with  Guy  in  the  wood,  was,  to  her 
sense  of  things,  sufficiently  dramatic  to  give  edge 
to  her  sense  that  something  was  wrong.  She 
seized  her  hat  from  a  peg  on  the  wall.  Theodore 
saw  that  she  was  abnormally  excited. 

"  We'll  go  and  find  them,"  she  said,  stabbing  in 
a  hat-pin.  "  Unless  you'd  rather  not,"  she  added 
cryptically. 

Theodore  followed  her  with  misgivings.  He  felt 
that  there  was  evil  in  her  words.  Her  cryptic 
mood,  in  an  intensely  prevailing  way,  hung  in  the 
still  dark  spaces  of  the  glade,  till  Theodore  began 
to  realise  that  even  in  sunlight  it  was  possible  to 
be  haunted. 

Suddenly  she  stopped  in  front  of  him  and 
gripped  his  arm.  With  her  other  hand  she  pointed 
aside.  Marian  was  sitting  with  Guy  under  the 
great  beech.  He  was  lying  well  back  talking  into 
the  air.  Sabina  noted  the  comfort  of  his  pose, 
and  received  a  sharp  impression  of  intimacy  in  the 
easy  way  he  was  addressing  his  companion. 
Theodore  looked  only  at  Marian.  She  was  sitting 
quite  still,  her  hat  in  her  hand  and  her  head 
against  the  smooth  trunk  of  the  tree.  She  was 
looking  at  Guy  in  a  way  that  declared  her  secret 
to  both  the  onlookers.  Of  the  four  who  stood  thus 
near  to  one  another,  only  Guy  was  unconscious  of 
the  look. 

Theodore's  attention  was  called  from  Marian  by 
a  violent  movement  from  Sabina. 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  167 

Her  fists  were  tight-clenched,  and  her  whole 
body  stiffened  with  the  effort  to  control  herself. 

At  this  moment  Guy,  turning  to  suggest  that  it 
was  time  for  tea,  saw  his  brother  on  the  path  with 
Sabina. 

He  waved  a  cheerful  greeting,  and,  pulling  Marian 
to  her  feet,  came  unconcernedly  to  meet  them. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

§  i 

DURING  the  walk  back  to  the  cottage,  and  the 
tea  which  followed,  Guy  wondered  why  his 
brother  was  so  thoughtful.  In  Sabina  he  merely 
recognised  one  of  her  moods,  without  distinctly 
locating  the  source.  He  supposed  it  was  because 
he  was  late  for  tea.  The  general  constraint  of  the 
party  was,  fortunately,  dispelled  at  an  early  stage 
by  the  awakening  of  Raymond 

After  tea  Theodore  and  Marian  walked  back  to 
Old  Place.  It  was  not  altogether  by  chance  that 
their  conversation  took  a  deeper  turn  as  they  came 
to  the  great  beech.  As  Theodore's  eye  rested  on  the 
tree  he  recalled  Marian's  devoted  contemplation 
of  his  brother,  and  noted  the  light  imprint  in  the 
turf  where  they  had  rested. 

Theodore  had  many  times  recurred  in  thought 
to  the  idea  that,  Guy  being  married,  the  way  was 
now  open  for  him  to  try  for  Marian.  He  was 
ready,  if  a  great  passion  were  denied  him,  to  fall 
back  upon  the  very  real  affection  which  she  had 
for  him,  and  a  loyalty  which  would  find  practical 
happiness  in  the  fulfilment  of  obligations  volun- 
tarily incurred.  This  afternoon  he  had  come  to 
Brambletye  in  the  heat  of  a  resolve  to  put  every- 
thing to  the  touch.  For  a  moment,  when  he  saw 
his  brother  with  Marian  under  the  tree,  he  had 

1 68 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  169 

wavered,  but  afterwards  his  resolution  was  fortified. 
The  incident  stung  him  in  retrospect.  That 
Marian  should  love  so  forlornly  a  man  who  was 
stupidly  unconscious,  raised  in  him  a  strong  im- 
patience composed  partly  of  the  thought  that  this 
was  an  unfair  stroke  of  destiny  at  the  expense  of 
his  own  devotion,  and  partly  a  jealousy  for  Marian 
herself,  that  she  should  be,  as  it  were,  one 
of  fortune's  suppliants.  The  position  thus  view- 
ed was  intolerable.  He  felt  bound  to  challenge 
it. 

Marian,  as  they  stood  level  with  the  big  tree, 
knew  that  the  moment  had  come  which  she  had 
begun  to  anticipate  without  quite  knowing  what 
she  would  do  when  it  came.  She  had  tried  to 
imagine  herself  accepting  Theodore's  proposal. 
Would  it  not  be  wise  to  accept  ?  That  afternoon 
it  seemed  especially  wise.  She  had  been  thoroughly 
aware  of  all  that  had  passed  in  Sabina's  mind,  and, 
though  Sabina  had  no  cause  for  jealousy,  Marian 
had  asked  herself  whether,  by  her  visits  to  the 
cottage,  she  was  not  making  things  worse  for  Guy 
and  spoiling  the  chance  these  two  yet  had  of 
coming  completely  together.  She  realised  that 
she  must  abandon  Guy  entirely,  unless  Sabina 
could  somehow  be  assured  that  there  was  no 
cause  for  jealousy.  Guy  would  not  understand 
her  withdrawal,  and  he  would  hurt  her  abomin- 
ably by  his  obtuseness.  But  she  could  not  risk 
being  a  motive  of  discord  between  him  and  his 
wife. 

By  accepting  Theodore  she  would  reassure 
Sabina  and  definitely  escape  from  the  false  position 


170  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

in  which  she  was  becoming  involved.  Theodore 
could  not  have  chosen  a  better  hour. 

Held  by  a  common  thought,  they  stopped  beside 
the  big  tree  and  stood  there  for  a  moment  silent. 
Marian  did  not  move  when  Theodore  took  her 
hand.  She  had  as  yet  no  impulse  either  towards 
him  or  away.  Theodore  hardly  dared  to  speak 
lest  the  hand  should  be  suddenly  reclaimed.  He 
had  taken  it  as  a  lover,  and  she  allowed  it  to 
remain. 

Then  by  the  sweetness  of  what  he  had  won  he 
measured  the  value  of  the  rest.  She  stood  there 
adorable  and  not  averse.  The  thought  of  all  he 
desired  struck  him  speechless,  but  Marian  saw  in 
his  face  all  that  he  could  not  say. 

She  allowed  herself  to  be  drawn  to  him,  and 
turned  to  him  with  an  effort.  He  thrilled  to  the 
movement  in  which  she  was  thus  surrendered,  but 
an  instant  later,  feeling  her  rebellion,  he  abruptly 
released  her,  with  the  bitterness  of  defeat  in  his  heart. 

Her  movement  was  a  refusal  which  needed  no 
further  expression. 

They  stood  silent  for  a  moment.  Marian  silently 
invoked  her  affection  for  him  and  the  common 
sense  which  bade  her  seek  happiness  and  security. 
She  had  an  impulse  to  cling,  though  she  could 
not  embrace — a  momentary  panic  of  her  for- 
lorn position,  the  result  of  the  long  effort  it 
had  cost  her  to  hold  herself  erect  under  dis- 
appointment. 

"  Perhaps  it  has  come  too  quickly,"  she  said 
at  last.  "  Perhaps  if  we  waited " 

She  paused,  and  added  a  moment  later  : 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  171 

"  Or,  perhaps,  I  am  just  incapable." 
"  No,  Marian,"  said  Theodore  quietly.     "  You 
are  not  incapable." 

His  eyes  went  involuntarily  to  the  spot  where 
she  had  been  sitting  with  Guy  hardly  an  hour  ago. 
She  followed  his  look,  and  Theodore,  seeing  that 
his  thought  was  read,  turned  decisively  away  from 
the  place,  and,  to  cover  his  unintended  allusion, 
moved  to  continue  their  walk. 

§   2 

The  short  interview  between  Theodore  and 
Marian  had  not  passed  without  witnesses.  Theo- 
dore had  left  his  pipe  behind  him  at  the  cottage, 
and  Guy,  perceiving  this,  hurried  after  him  down 
the  path  towards  the  open  glade.  Sabina,  who 
watched  him  run  after  his  brother  from  the  cottage 
window,  suddenly  saw  him  come  abruptly  to  a 
stand  upon  the  edge  of  the  clearing,  whence  he 
could  see  the  great  beech.  Then  he  turned  back 
slowly  with  an  expression  almost  of  bewilderment 
on  his  face,  like  one  who  had  seen  something  he 
did  not  understand.  She  left  the  cottage  and  ran 
to  meet  him.  She  almost  guessed  what  he  had 
seen,  but  she  so  eagerly  wanted  to  know  how  the 
event  was  shaping,  that  she  took  him  almost 
roughly  by  the  arm. 

"Well?  "  she  asked  breathlessly.  "What  did 
you  see  ? 

Guy  stared  at  her  in  amazement.  She  was  not 
slow  to  observe  that  he  seemed  shaken. 

"  I  don't  exactly  know,"  he  said  slowly  He 
was  still  holding  the  pipe  in  his  hand. 


1T2  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

"  You  look  as  if  you'd  seen  a  ghost,"  said  Sabina 
with  a  nervous  laugh. 

"  It  was  nothing,"  said  Guy. 

Angered  by  an  evasiveness  which  was  clearly 
the  result  of  a  wish  to  shield  Marian  from  her 
curiosity,  Sabina  dropped  his  arm  and  stood  away 
from  him. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  take  Theodore  his  pipe  ?  " 
she  asked. 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  faint  surprise.  Suddenly 
she  snatched  the  pipe  from  his  hands. 

"  I'll  give  it  him  myself,"  she  said. 

She  was  already  on  her  way.  Guy  called  to 
her  peremptorily  to  stop,  but  she  disregarded 
him  and  in  a  moment  stood  at  the  edge  of  the 
clearing. 

Guy  from  that  spot  had  seen  his  brother  standing 
silently  with  Marian  at  the  moment  when  he  had 
taken  her  hand.  Sabina,  who  arrived  only  a  few  brief 
moments  later,  saw  Theodore  draw  Marian  towards 
him.  After  one  swift  glance  and  a  feeling  in  which 
shame  and  satisfaction  were  blended,  she  returned 
to  Guy,  who  was  waiting  for  her  in  the  path.  He 
looked  at  her  with  a  stern  displeasure  such  as  she 
had  never  before  seen  in  him. 

"  Please,  Guy,"  she  said,  "  I  didn't  really  mean 
to  look  at  them." 

He  turned  without  a  word  and  walked  away 
from  her  into  the  wood. 

She  stood  a  moment  torn  between  an  impulse  to 
run  after  him  and  beg  forgiveness,  and  the  pride 
which  held  her,  so  often,  blind  and  dumb  in  his 
presence. 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  173 

She  then  went  back  to  the  cottage  and  busied 
herself  with  her  work. 

§  3 

As  the  evening  wore  on,  the  feeling  which  came 
more  and  more  to  prevail  with  Sabina  was  satis- 
faction with  what  she  had  seen.  Theodore  had 
taken  Marian  in  his  arms,  and  Marian  had  allowed 
it.  Marian,  it  seemed,  was  to  marry  Theodore. 
This  fact  had  discounted  her  jealousy,  and  it  soft- 
ened her  pride  by  accusing  her  of  in]  ustice  towards 
Guy.  She  began  to  long  for  his  return.  She 
desired  to  humble  herself,  to  be  pardoned,  and 
to  rest  with  Guy  in  a  security  greater  than  she 
had  yet  known. 

Nevertheless,  when  Guy  appeared  at  the  door, 
her  impulse  to  run  to  him  died  in  her,  as  so  often 
before.  The  evening  passed  with  hardly  a  word 
between  them.  Guy  was  preoccupied  with  that 
startling  vision  of  his  brother  silently  holding  the 
hand  of  Marian.  The  incident  obscurely  troubled 
him.  It  shook  equally  his  idea  of  Marian  and  of 
Theodore,  and  filled  him  with  a  sense  of  extrusion. 

Sabina  attributed  his  preoccupation  to  the  anger 
he  had  shown  at  her  conduct  in  the  wood.  But 
that  anger  had  been  as  short  as  it  had  been  sudden 
— a  flash  of  irritation  at  her  headstrong  invasion 
of  a  privacy  which  should  have  been  respected. 

He  was  still  sunk  in  contemplation  of  the  idea 
of  Theodore  incredibly  in  love,  and,  even  more 
incredibly,  Marian's  accepted  lover,  when  Sabina 
announced  that  she  was  going  to  bed.  She  stood 
at  the  door  with  a  candle  in  her  hand.  Guv  looked 


174  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

at  her,  coming  suddenly  out  of  his  thoughts.  He 
had  been  vaguely  aware  during  the  evening  of  her 
diffident  and  incomplete  movements  of  propitiation. 
He  suddenly  realised,  as  he  saw  her  mute  and 
fragile  by  the  door,  that  she  wanted  to  say  something. 

She  put  down  the  candle  and  came  to  him.  She 
stood  as  though  groping  for  words.  All  th  Jie 
wished  to  say  tumbled  about  her  mind  in  disorder. 
She  wanted  to  ask  whether  he  was  really  angry. 
She  wanted  to  confess  that  she  had  been  jealously 
curious,  and  to  humble  herself  for  the  offence.  She 
wanted  to  bring  forth  all  her  dark  ideas  and 
fancies  in  order  that  he  might  put  them  to  rest. 
She  desired  to  say  something  which  might  lead 
them  both  to  a  perfect  understanding,  and  make 
all  future  discord  impossible.  Such  words  came 
easily  to  her  mind  in  solitude.  But  now,  when 
most  she  needed  them,  they  escaped  her. 

She  felt  only  a  horrible  confusion  of  the  brain 
and  an  ungovernable  impulse  to  break  through  the 
silence  which  was  closing  about  her.  And  she 
heard  herself  speak  at  last,  not  because  she  felt 
able  to  say  what  she  wanted,  but  because  she  must 
say  something,  however  inadequate. 

'  You're  not  angry  with  me  ?  "  she  pleaded. 

"  Why  should  I  be  angry,"  said  Guy. 

11  Don't  put  me  off,  Guy.  I  want  to  say  so 
much." 

He  was  struck  by  her  urgency. 
'  There  seems  nothing  to  keep  us  together,"  she 
suddenly  exclaimed.     "  Do  you  still  love  me  as 
much  as  ever,  Guy  ?  " 

"  I  love  you  too  much  !  " 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  175 

The  exclamation  was  involuntary.  Sabina  had 
become  part  of  him,  so  that  her  pain  was  almost 
physically  his  and  all  her  moods  actively  troubled 
his  peace.  He  had  begun  to  dread  this  power  she 
had  to  afflict  him,  and  to  resent  a  love  which  was 
beyond  reason  and  bej'ond  mere  congruities  of 
temper  and  taste.  Sabina  went  unerringly  to  the 
source  of  his  thought. 

'  You  would  like  to  love  me  less,"  she  said. 
Then  she  added,  with  her  terrible  capacity  for 
uniting  a  deep  truth  with  a  common-place  and 
apparently  irrelevant  corollary  : 

"  I  shan't  always  be  pretty." 

The  saying  which  brought  her  so  crudely  to  earth 
made  her  the  more  forlorn. 

Guy  took  her  by  the  shoulders  and  looked  long 
at  the  prettiness  which  would  not  last.  He  was 
feeling  for  a  mystery  which  eluded  him,  which  had 
never  succeeded  in  expressing  itself  in  plain  terms, 
perhaps  because  it  was  too  deep  for  the  words  he 
could  not  find.  She  felt  him  searching  for  this 
invisible  reality  behind  the  mask,  and  said  to  him, 
a  little  in  awe  of  his  penetrating  eyes  : 

"  I  could  almost  think  you  would  love  me  if  I 
weren't  pretty  at  all." 

"  And  a  moment  ago  you  doubted  altogether," 
said  Guy. 

"  Oh,  Guy.  Everything's  so  mixed  up.  I 
don't  rightly  know  sometimes  what  I  think." 

"  Try  to  be  sure." 

"  Sometimes,"  she  responded  after  a  while,  "  it 
seems  wicked  to  doubt.  Then  something  hap- 
pens  " 


176  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

She  continued  hurriedly,  looking  down  and 
nervously  fingering  the  buttons  of  his  coat : 

"  I  am  afraid  of  your  cousin.  She  and  you  have 
so  much  in  common.  I  wanted  to  see  her  settled." 

Guy  stiffened. 

"  I  thought  you  had  got  over  that  stupid  feeling 
about  Marian,"  he  said. 

"  It's  all  right  now,"  said  Sabina.  "  She's  going 
to  marry  Theodore." 

She  saw  she  had  awakened  in  Guy  an  obscure 
resentment.  She  tightened  her  grasp  of  his  hand. 

"  I'll  try  not  to  be  so  silly  in  future,"  she  said. 

Guy  smiled,  in  sudden  tenderness,  as  over  a  child 
promising  in  good  faith,  and  with  boundless 
confidence,  never  again  to  be  troublesome. 

Her  contrition  softened  him  and  dispelled  their 
estrangement. 

They  sat  into  the  late  evening,  and  then,  stumb- 
ling close  together  about  the  dark  garden,  among 
the  heavy  scent  of  flowers  and  earth  and  the  sur- 
rounding woodland,  they  discussed  new  schemes  of 
horticulture  for  the  fall  of  the  year. 


CHAPTER  IX 

§  i 

NEXT  morning  Guy  put  aside  his  writing  and 
worked  in  the  garden.  His  happy  hour  with 
Sabina  on  the  previous  evening  had  driven  from 
his  mind  the  vague  disquiet  which  had  followed 
his  sight  of  Theodore  and  Marian  in  the  wood.  He 
was  already  well  content  with  the  idea  that  these 
two  should  marry. 

Juno  and  Jupiter  were  to  keep  house  together, 
and  into  that  house  it  would  be  rather  fun  to 
intrude  occasionally.  There  he  would  find  rest 
and  dignity,  a  place  untroubled  by  the  ardours 
and  perplexities  of  life.  Moreover,  this  should 
definitely  put  an  end  to  the  absurd  jealousy  of 
Sabina.  Turning  over  with  his  spade  the  fragrant 
brown  earth  of  the  garden,  Guy  smiled  to  himself 
in  anticipation  of  the  confession  which  Theodore 
would  in  due  time  have  to  make. 

Sabina  came  out  into  the  garden  at  intervals 
and  stood  pleasantly  in  the  sun.  She  chaffed  him 
for  his  digging,  which  was  clearly  that  of  a  novice. 
She  was  light-hearted  and  could  joke  this  morning, 
even  concerning  her  rustic  education. 

She  brought  her  work  out  into  the  garden,  and 
sat  on  a  small  stool  where  he  could  see  her  and  talk 
to  her  in  the  pauses  of  his  labour.  He  liked  to  see 
her  there  ;  and,  when  at  last  she  went  into  the 

177 


178  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

house,  he  felt  that  the  solitude  of  the  garden  was 
less  satisfying  than  before. 

Sabina  was  for  a  moment  tranquil.  She  had 
brought  her  misgivings  into  the  light,  and  Guy 
had  made  them  seem  of  small  account.  Moreover 
she  had  seen  Marian  in  the  arms  of  Theodore. 
That  spectacle  was  her  guarantee,  above  all  others, 
for  the  future. 

In  the  afternoon  Guy  said  he  would  walk  to  Old 
Place  to  see  if  there  was  any  news  of  the  event, 
which  presumably  was  by  this  time  for  publication. 
On  arriving  he  was  told  by  Lady  Melsham  that 
Marian  had  gone  to  the  cottage.  He  asked  for 
tidings  in  a  tone  of  expectancy  that  a  little  mysti- 
fied Lady  Melsham. 

She  informed  him,  in  answer  to  his  inquiry 
whether  his  brother  were  still  there,  that  Theodore 
had  left  for  London.  Guy  declined  an  invitation 
to  remain  and  returned  to  the  cottage. 

§   2 

Sabina  met  him  at  the  door.  The  evil  mood 
had  again  touched  her.  She  gave  him  the  shut 
evasive  look  of  those  who  brood  on  a  secret  resent- 
ment, and  his  spirits  fell  darkly.  For  a  moment 
he  thought  of  asking  what  it  was  that  had  again 
clouded  her,  to  force  this  hidden  trouble  into  the 
open  where  it  could  be  met. 

But  he  knew  she  would  deny  that  anything  had 
happened. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  said  with  a  forced  cheerfulness. 
It  was  as  near  as  he  could  come  to  a  direct  question. 

"  She's  upstairs,"  said  Sabina. 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  179 

Guy  gathered  from  this  that  Marian  had  arrived 
at  the  cottage,  and  that  her  arrival  had  in  some  \vay 
disconcerted  his  wife.  He  wondered  what  could 
possibly  have  happened. 

But  Sabina's  mood  was  not  due  to  anything 
which  had  actually  occurred,  She  had  merely 
leaped  to  the  conclusion,  on  seeing  Marian  at  the 
cottage  door,  that  there  was  to  be  no  engagement. 

§  3 

Nothing  in  the  manner  of  Marian,  when  she 
joined  them  a  moment  later,  indicated  that  any- 
thing had  or  had  not  happened  on  the  previous 
day. 

Guy,  expecting  that  she  would  say  something, 
was  puzzled  by  her  silence.  There  was  no  reason 
for  her  to  make  any  mystery  of  an  event  of  domestic 
interest  to  them  all.  She  made  no  allusion  to  it, 
however,  in  spite  of  several  opportunities. 

"  I  dropped  in  at  Old  Place  this  afternoon,"  said 
Guy.  "  Theodore  has  gone  back  to  town,  ap- 
parently." 

"  Yes,"  said  Marian. 

There  was  a  short  silence. 

"Isn't  that  rather  strange?"  said  Sabina 
suddenly. 

She  had  been  sitting  quietly  under  an  excitement 
that  increased  each  time  Marian  refused  to  speak. 
She  began  to  suffer  an  hysterical  craving  to  force 
Marian  to  say  what  had  happened.  Guy  turned 
to  her  in  alarm.  He  heard  the  note  in  her  voice 
which  meant  trouble  for  them  all. 

"  Why  should  it  be  strange  ?  "  he  said  hastily. 


180  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

"  He  came  for  a  holiday,"  said  Sabina.  "  And 
suddenly  he  goes  back.  Isn't  that  rather  strange  ?" 

There  was  an  awkward  silence.  Guy  looked  at 
Marian.  She  had  gone  a  little  pale,  but  she  clearly 
intended  to  say  nothing. 

"  It  seems  very  strange  to  me,"  said  Sabina, 
harping  remorselesly  on  the  word.  "  Especially 
after  what  happened  yesterday,"  she  added  ab- 
ruptly. 

Marian  involuntarily  froze  into  an  attitude 
almost  of  disdain.  She  resented  this  intrusion, 
which  somehow  had  become  possible,  into  her 
privacy.  Sabina  saw  in  her  attitude  the  recoil  of 
a  fine  lady  from  an  impertinence. 

"  I  don't  understand,"  said  Marian  stiffly. 

She  did  not  intend  it,  but  she  spoke  as  to  an 
interloper.  The  affront  had  for  the  moment  shaken 
her  presence  of  mind. 

"  We  thought  you  would  have  something  to  tell 
us,"  said  Sabina,  who  now  desired  only  to  strike 
an  insolent  rival. 

Marian's  whole  attention  was  concentrated  on 
the  "  We."  She  looked  swiftly  at  Guy,  who 
already  realised  that  she  desired  whatever  had 
happened  between  her  and  Theodore  to  be  ex- 
clusively her  personal  concern.  He  tried  to  save 
her  the  knowledge  that  they  had  seen  anything  of 
consequence. 

"  I  suppose  we  jumped  at  conclusions,"  he  said. 
"  Nothing  really  to  go  upon." 

His  clumsy  attempt  to  spare  Marian  had  the 
worst  possible  effect  on  Sabina. 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  181 

"  What's  all  this  mystery  ?  "  she  exclaimed 
impatiently. 

And,  facing  Guy,  she  said  : 

"  Either  she's  engaged  to  Theodore  or  she 
isn't.  It  certainly  looked  as  if  she  was  engaged 
to  him  yesterday." 

Marian  rose  from  her  chair.  She  was  now  com- 
pletely mistress  of  herself. 

"  You  seem  somehow  to  know  what  has 
happened.  I'm  sorry,  because  it  was  something 
which  concerned  only  Theodore  and  myself." 

"  I'm  not  sure  of  that,"  said  Sabina  darkly. 

"Really,"  said  Marian,  "you  must  allow  me  to 
judge." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Guy.  "  That's  more  than 
enough  about  it." 

Guy  reached  over  the  table  and  laid  his  hand  on 
Marian's  arm.  In  the  heart  of  Sabina,  seeing  this, 
a  snake  was  rearing  to  strike. 

"  I  won't  be  put  in  the  wrong,"  she  cried. 
"  Why  can't  she  say  whether  she's  engaged  or 
not  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  engaged  to  Theodore,"  said  Marian 
quietly,  "  if  you  insist." 

"  It  really  isn't  our  affair,"  said  Guy. 

He  looked  at  Marian,  conveying  with  an  almost 
imperceptible  gesture  that  she  would  do  well  to 
leave  them.  Sabina  was  standing  now,  with  a 
white  blind  face,  wringing  her  apron  between  her 
hands. 

She  addressed  herself  directly  to  Guy. 

"  Of  course  it's  none  of  your  business,  Guy," 


182  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

she  said  excitedly.  "  It  doesn't  affect  you  at  all  ? 
You're  not  even  glad  to  hear  it." 

Guy  was  accustomed  to  follow  the  queer  twisting 
of  her  mind,  its  sudden  jump  from  some  chance 
word  or  look  to  monstrous  conclusions.  But  even 
Guy  was  staggered.  Before  he  could  say  a  word 
she  was  saying  things  from  which  only  gradually 
they  could  gather  whence  she  had  leaped  into  that 
small  hell  she  perpetually  made  for  herself.  Marian, 
she  seemed  to  say,  had  refused  to  marry  Theodore 
(after  what  they  had  seen,  too,  in  the  wood  yester- 
day) because  she  was  waiting  for  somebody  else. 
So  be  it.  Guy  could  go  his  own  way  as  soon  as  he 
liked,  and  with  whom  he  liked  (this  with  a  venomous 
glance  at  Marian).  Marriages  were  not  really  more 
sacred  than  engagements.  An  engagement  had 
been  broken.  That,  perhaps,  made  it  easier  for 
all  parties  to  be  happy  and  comfortable.  Thus 
Sabina  raved. 

At  this  point  Raymond  called  for  her,  and  she 
left  them  abruptly  to  an  appalled  contemplation 
of  the  abyss  into  which  they  had  looked.  Marian 
wondered  whether  Guy  realised  her  secret.  She 
dreaded  the  awakening  in  him  of  a  self-conscious- 
ness which  might  destroy  their  friendship.  She 
was  almost  relieved  when  she  found  that  his 
thoughts  were  far  from  that  aspect  of  the  question. 

"  Marian,"  he  said.  "  I  would  give  anything  in 
the  world  to  make  Sabina  happy." 

He  spoke  with  short  pauses  between  his  sentences. 

"  She  torments  herself  perpetually,"  he  said. 
"  She  is  like  a  child,  and  I  can  seldom  find  the  real 
reason  of  her  trouble." 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  183 

'  You  saw  her  just  now,"  he  went  on.  "  That 
kind  of  thing  often  happens.  A  chance  phrase, 
clumsy  perhaps,  but  clearly  not  intended  to  hurt, 
touches  some  secret  nerve." 

He  rose  and  went  to  the  window. 

"  It  seems  hopeless  at  times,"  he  said. 

Marian  for  a  while  could  say  nothing. 

"  I  can't  help  you,  Guy,"  she  said  at  last.  "  I 
can  do  no  good  between  you." 

She  made  ready  to  go,  and  Guy  prepared  to 
accompany  her.  Marian  looked  at  him  with  a  sad 
smile,  indulgently  wondering  how  in  some  things 
he  could  be  so  blind. 

"  Not  this  afternoon,"  she  said  quietly.  "  It 
won't  improve  matters  for  you  to  come  with  me." 

§  4 

After  Marian  had  left,  Guy  remained  by  the 
window  till  Sabina,  having  quieted  Raymond, 
came  back  into  the  room.  He  watched  her  clearing 
away  the  tea  things  with  the  settled  look  of  offence 
on  her  face  which  was  now  so  familiar.  He 
saw  no  hope  of  amendment  from  anything  he 
could  say.  He  took  his  hat  and  stick  and  left  the 
cottage. 

It  was  dusk  when  he  returned,  and  Sabina  was 
waiting  for  him  with  the  supper  prepared.  She 
ignored  his  efforts  to  get  into  touch,  answering  him 
with  the  intolerable  patience  of  those  who  suffer 
their  wrongs  meekly. 

At  last  he  could  bear  it  no  longer.  Pushing  away 
his  plate,  he  went  round  the  table  and  took  her  by 
the  shoulders. 


184  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

"  Sabina,"  he  urged.  "  \Vhat  is  the  matter 
with  you  ?  " 

Sabina  stubbornly  shut  her  lips. 

"  Why  did  you  make  a  scene  just  now  with 
Marian?  "  Guy  continued. 

"  I'm  not  in  the  habit  of  making  scenes,"  said 
Sabina. 

Guy  doggedly  pursued  her.  "  I  can't  for  the  life 
of  me  see  what  Marian's  engagement  has  to  do  with 
us,"  he  said. 

"  It  has  nothing  to  do  with  me,"  said  Sabina  ; 
"  and,  of  course,  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  you 
that  it  is  broken  off." 

Her  tone  was  big  with  implications  which  refused 
to  be  ignored.  Guy  felt  that  the  position  would 
not  be  improved  by  yielding  to  anger,  and  he  put 
a  strong  constraint  upon  himself. 

"  You've  something  on  your  mind,  Sabina. 
Tell  me  what  it  is.  You  know  perfectly  well  that 
this  business  does  not  affect  us  in  the  least." 

"  Then  there's  no  more  to  be  said,"  Sabina 
rejoined. 

She  had  not  once  looked  at  Guy  during  the  con- 
versation, and  the  fixed  look  of  estrangement  had 
not  left  her  face  for  an  instant. 

Guy  turned  away.  Involuntarily  he  clenched 
his  hands. 

"  We  can't  go  on  like  this,"  he  exclaimed. 

In  the  silence  that  followed  all  the  slight  sounds 
of  the  wood  and  garden  intruded  irrelevantly  into 
the  room.  A  moth  entered,  and,  after  an  uncertain 
flight  hither  and  thither,  fell  scorched  beside  the 
lamp.  Guy  absently  put  the  creature  out  of  its 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  185 

misery.  Sabina  rose  to  clear  away  the  supper. 
Her  movement  implied  that  the  night  would  end 
with  nothing  bettered  or  explained.  They  would 
lie  beside  one  another,  vaguely  but  tensely  hostile, 
until,  exhausted  with  fancied  recriminations,  the 
more  bitter  for  remaining  undelivered,  they  would 
sleep,  and  pretend  to-morrow  that  nothing  had 
happened. 

Guy  resolved  that  to-night  should  end  differently 
from  that,  and  Sabina,  in  the  act  of  collecting  the 
the  supper  things,  heard  herself  ordered  to  put 
them  down. 

"  We've  got  to  get  clear  on  this,"  said  Guy. 

Sabina  was  frightened  by  his  vehemence. 

"  I'm  willing  to  be  friends,  if  you  are,"  she  said. 

"  And  then  it  will  happen  again  to-morrow  and 
again,  and  again,  and  again,"  said  Guy.  "  We 
want  something  better  than  that." 

"  People  who  make  mistakes  must  stand  by  the 
consequences,"  said  Sabina.  '  You're  sorry  you 
married  me,  and  that's  the  truth,"  she  concluded. 

"  That's  a  wicked  thing  to  say." 

"  You  can't  deny  that  you're  sorry.  And  some- 
body else  is  sorry  too." 

"  You  mean  Marian  ?  " 

"  Who  else  should  I  mean  ?  " 

"  Marian's  done  her  best  to  be  friends." 

"  Marian's  perfect,"  said  Sabina.  "It's  a  pity 
I  came  between  you." 

"  Don't  be  ridiculous,"  said  Guy  angrily. 
"  You're  being  utterly  absurd." 

Sabina,  pushed  into  the  open,  looked  him  boldly 
in  the  face.  "  Marian  would  give  anything  to  get 


186  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

you,"  she  said;  "  and  she'd  have  you  fast  enough 
if  it  were  not  for  me." 

Guy  lost  patience  altogether  at  this.  He  shook 
her  roughly  by  the  arm. 

"  Hold  your  tongue  !  "  he  said  with  a  violence 
which  surprised  them  both. 

They  were  smitten  with  dismay  at  the  width  of 
the  breach  which  had  opened  between  them. 
There  was  a  short  unhappy  silence,  broken  at  last 
by  Guy. 

"I  have  never  regretted  our  marriage,"  he  said, 
trembling  with  indignation.  "  But  you  are  doing 
your  best  to  make  me  regret  it  now." 

§  5 

He  hastily  left  the  cottage,  and  wandered  down 
the  road.  There  was  a  cheerful  gleam  from  the 
'  Three  Foresters,"  and  Mrs.  Basing  smiled  a 
welcome  from  behind  the  bar  But  he  passed  on 
moodily,  and  decided  that  never  again  would  life 
hold  for  him  anything  of  good  cheer.  Sabina's 
fancies  about  Marian  he  dismissed  as  wholly  un- 
founded. They  simply  indicated  the  hopelessness 
of  trying  to  deal  with  her  as  a  rational  being. 

He  returned  to  the  cottage  after  midnight. 
Sabina  was  already  in  bed.  She  had  passed  the 
intervening  hour  in  activities  partly  inspired  by  a 
letter  which  she  had  recently  received  from  her 
sister,  who  was  now  married  and  living  in  a  house 
of  her  own  near  Steyning.  Guy  was  surprised  to 
find  that  Sabina  was  not  only  in  bed  but  sleeping. 
Usually  on  these  occasions  she  would  be  lying  alert 
for  his  arrival.  He  undressed  without  disturbing 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  1ST 

her,   and  lay  beside  her  with  his  thoughts  still 
turning  upon  their  recent  interview. 

Once  he  was  faintly  aware  that  Sabina  had  risen, 
and  was  attending  to  Raymond,  and  later  he  was 
aroused  to  the  fact  that  her  arms  were  about  him. 
But  reconciliation  had  too  often  come  in  that  way, 
and  he  lay  still  and  unresponsive. 

He  slept  soundly  at  last,  and  awoke  to  find  the 
dawn  at  their  window.  Again  without  disturbing 
her  he  rose  and  made  himself  ready  for  the  day. 
Raymond  was  still  sleeping  in  his  cradle.  Guy 
could  not  endure  the  cottage,  where  the  air  seemed 
to  be  burdened  with  echoes  of  yesterday.  He 
scrawled  a  note  saying  that  he  was  going  to  town 
by  an  early  train,  and  would  not  be  back  till  the 
evening.  Before  leaving  the  cottage  he  looked  at 
his  wife,  who  lay  with  her  face  to  the  growing  light. 
Sleep  had  smoothed  the  hard  hostility  of  yesterday 
to  a  childlike  petulance.  There  had  been  tears  on 
her  face.  He  bent  to  her,  and  only  just  resisted 
an  impulse  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and  let  her 
awaken  there  to  an  assurance  that  another  estrange- 
ment had  passed  like  the  rest.  But  he  feared  to 
see  her  face  harden  under  his  eyes.  He  preferred 
to  bear  away  with  him  a  picture  which  moved  in 
him  the  old  tenderness. 

When  he  returned  that  night  the  cottage  was 
silent  and  dark.  A  message  awaited  him  on  the 
mantelpiece  to  the  effect  that  she  had  taken 
Raymond  to  stay  with  her  sister  for  a  while.  She 
would  return  when  Guy  was  sufficiently  eager  to 
receive  her. 


CHAPTER  X 


GUY  did  not  immediately  pursue  Sabina  to  her 
place  of  retreat.  He  wrote  her  a  letter  saj'ing 
he  would  be  glad  when  she  was  ready  to  come  to 
him.  Meanwhile  she  must  let  him  know  regularly 
how  she  was,  and  he  would  send  her  the  money  she 
required.  It  was  a  letter  without  life  or  character, 
the  result  of  feelings  which  cancelled  one  another 
and  left  him  uncertain  what  to  say  or  do.  Sabina 
replied  that  she  was  well  in  health,  and  repeated 
that  she  would  return  when  Guy  was  sufficiently 
eager  to  receive  her. 

Meanwhile  Guy  saw  his  book  through  the  press 
and  lived  increasingly  the  life  of  a  hermit.  Winter 
drifted  towards  him,  and  still  Sabina  remained 
away.  Occasionally  she  wrote,  briefly  intimating 
that  she  and  Raymond  were  as  well  as  could  be 
expected,  and  acknowledged  his  cheques.  She 
said  she  was  quite  comfortable  with  her  sister, 
who  just  then  was  in  need  of  help  and  was  glad  to 
have  her  in  the  house. 

It  was  some  time  before  it  was  realised  abroad 
that  Guy  and  Sabina  were  not  living  together. 
Marian  did  not  again  come  to  the  cottage,  and 
Theodore  had  gone  to  nurse  a  constituency  in  the 
North  of  England  to  which  he  had  been  nominated 
as  official  Unionist  candidate.  In  London  Guy 

188 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  18» 

avoided  Aunt  Helen  ;  and,  when  he  saw  her,  §aid 
nothing  about  the  scene  at  the  cottage. 

Guy,  during  these  solitary  weeks,  measured  the 
extent  to  which  Sabina  prevailed  in  his  life  by  the 
desolation  which  he  felt  in  her  absence.  He  was 
urged  continually  towards  the  girl  who  was  ir- 
remediably associated  with  the  most  exquisite 
moments  as  well  as  the  most  urgent  distresses  of 
his  life.  But  he  was  restrained  by  an  intelligence 
that  was  not  to  be  hoodwinked.  He  had  within 
him  a  spectator  who  saw  clearly  that,  if  Sabina 
returned  immediately,  there  would  at  once  arise 
the  same  perverse  misunderstandings. 

He  could  nevertheless  hardly  have  refrained 
from  bringing  back  Sabina,  had  he  not  found  an 
unprecedented  outlet  for  his  charged  emotions. 
In  long  solitary  walks  at  all  hours  over  the  country- 
side, fighting  with  his  bitter  deprivation,  sensitised 
by  loneliness  and  desire,  he  found  himself  haunted, 
as  never  before,  by  an  intense  necessity  for  ex- 
pression. He  was  a  musician  from  birth  ;  he  had 
mixed  from  boyhood  with  musicians ;  he  was 
sufficiently  acquainted  with  musical  science  to 
disdain  it.  Already  he  had  written  songs  which 
a  friend  had  introduced,  not  without  success,  into 
his  recitals.  He  began  now  for  the  first  time  to 
feel  an  overwhelming  desire  to  test  himself  as  a 
composer. 

One  night,  in  the  silent  room  at  Brambletye,  he 
took  his  pen  in  hand,  and,  almost  with  a  sense  of 
predestination  to  that  end,  he  began  to  set  down 
in  haste  themes  on  which  his  mind  had  been  tenta- 
tively at  work  for  several  days. 


190  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

One  morning,  a  little  later,  in  a  moment  of 
audacity,  he  wrote  "  Ballade  Symphonique  "  upon 
the  first  sheet  of  his  score,  and  soon  he  was  striving 
against  odds  to  express  the  musical  ideas  which 
had  taken  root.  He  based  his  symphony  on 
passages  of  Arnold's  "  Forsaken  Merman,"  but 
soon  discovered  in  himself  an  impatience  with 
literary  ideas,  and  used  his  music  to  express 
his  personal  sense  of  desolation  and  frustrated  love. 

§2 

It  was  Theodore  who  first  learned  that  Guy  was 
living  as  a  bachelor.  He  returned  to  Old  Place  in 
December,  after  a  political  defeat  in  which  he  had 
conducted  himself  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  Whips, 
and  he  dropped  suddenly  upon  his  brother  at 
Brambletye. 

A  few  days  previously  Henderson  had  complained 
to  Theodore  of  Guy's  recent  behaviour.  It  seemed 
that  Guy  did  not  keep  sufficiently  in  touch  with 
his  editor.  For  the  last  weeks  he  had  even  been 
late  with  his  article,  and  it  had  been  written  with 
more  than  his  usual  neglect  of  current  musical 
events.  Henderson,  moreover,  had  detected  some- 
thing perfunctory  in  Guy's  more  recent  perform- 
ances, as  though  the  writer's  mind  was  away  upon 
other  matters.  Theodore  wondered  what  could 
be  more  particularly  occupying  his  brother  at  this 
time,  more  especially  as  he  knew  that  the  book, 
"  Contemporary  Composers,"  was  finished. 

Theodore  let  himself  into  the  cottage,  finding  the 
door  on  the  latch.  He  found  Guy  deeply  engaged. 
The  table  was  littered  with  music  paper,  and  Guy, 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  191 

ruffled  and  unshaven,  was  scratching  vigorously 
with  a  fountain  pen.  He  sat  in  an  armchair  by 
the  fire,  which  gave  almost  more  light  than  the 
candles  on  the  mantelpiece.  One  half  of  the  table 
was  encumbered  with  the  remains  of  a  meal 
recently  consumed.  The  other  half  was  covered 
with  books,  papers  and  minor  implements. 

When  Guy  heard  the  click  of  the  latch  his  first 
thought  was  that  Sabina  had  come  home.  The 
effect  of  his  thought  was  strange.  It  was  not 
exactly  hope  or  joy  that  he  felt,  but  all  his  faculties 
leaped  to  eager  attention  and  his  starved  emotions 
clamoured  suddenly  for  satisfaction.  Then,  when 
he  saw  his  brother,  the  room  went  suddenly  dead. 
It  was  as  though  a  light  had  been  blown  out. 

They  greeted  casually.  Theodore  picked  his  way 
to  a  chair  between  the  sheets  that  littered  the  floor, 
and  added  his  hat  to  the  accumulation  of  objects 
which  covered  the  table.  He  pointed  to  the 
sheets. 

"  What's  all  this  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I'm  hoping  it's  the  divine  fire,"  said  Guy. 

"  There  seems  to  be  rather  a  lot  of  it,"  said 
Theodore. 

"  It's  perhaps  a  symphony,"  said  Guy. 

He  was  shy  of  talking  about  his  new  work,  and 
hastened  to  change  the  subject. 

"  Why  didn't  they  elect  you  to  Parliament  ?  " 
he  enquired.  "  Seems  such  an  obvious  thing  to 
do,"  he  added. 

"  The  other  fellow  was  more  obvious,"  said 
Theodore. 

Theodore  began  to  fill  a  pipe.    He  wanted  to 


19*  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

hear  what  had  become  of  his  brother's  wife.  Guy 
did  not  spontaneously  enlighten  him. 

"  Somebody  seems  to  be  missing,"  said  Theodore 
at  last. 

"  For  the  time  being,"  said  Guy. 

"  Anything  wrong  ?  "  Theodore  enquired. 

Guy  sat  up  in  his  armchair,  and  some  symphony 
slipped  from  his  knees  to  the  floor. 

"  Sometimes  I  think  everything's  wrong,  and 
then  it  seems  like  nothing  at  all." 

"  What  has  happened  ?  " 

"  We  had  a  scene — one  of  our  usual  scenes,  only 
a  bit  worse.  She's  with  her  sister." 

"  Why  don't  you  bring  her  back  ?  " 

"  If  I  bring  her  back,  it  will  happen  all  over 
again.  Besides  this  last  time  she  was  perfectly 
outrageous.  She  had  got  something  into  her  head 
about  Marian." 

Theodore  quickly  changed  the  subject. 

"  You're  neglecting  the  Moderator." 

"  Is  anybody  grumbling  ?  " 

"  You're  paid  to  visit  certain  concerts,  and  you 
can't  afford  to  be  dismissed.  That's  the  point  to 
consider."  He  paused  a  moment.  "  How  are 
funds  at  the  present  moment  ?  "  he  added. 

"  I  could  borrow  some  with  advantage,"  said 
Guy,  with  his  broad  smile. 

Theodore  rose  in  some  impatience.  He  had 
come  from  a  busy  world  of  affairs.  He  was 
exasperated  by  the  contrast  offered  here  by  a 
brother  whom  he  regarded  as  superior  rather  than 
inferior  to  himself  in  native  gifts.  He  looked  round 
the  littered  room  and  down  at  Guy,  dark  under  the 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  It* 

eyes  from  days  and  nights  of  feverish  endeavour. 
Theodore  did  not  believe  in  the  symphony.  It  was 
one  of  Guy's  impetuous  enthusiasms  which  would 
break  down  for  lack  of  technical  training  and 
industry.  Meanwhile  Guy  was  neglecting  his 
livelihood  ;  he  had  made  a  failure  of  his  marriage  ; 
and  he  behaved  in  money  matters  like  a  cheerfully 
insolvent  undergraduate. 

"  I'm  glad  you're  hard  up,"  said  Theodore 
shortly.  "  It  may  bring  you  to  your  senses." 

Guy's  blue  eyes  kindled. 

"  It  won't  bring  me  on  my  knees  to  Henderson." 


., 

The  momentary  dispute  had  ended  in  the 
familiar  way.  Guy  had  apparently  paid  no  regard 
to  his  brother,  but  Theodore  knew  that  for  a  few 
weeks  at  least  he  would  behave  himself  rather 
better.  Theodore  knew  he  was  in  the  right,  and, 
as  always  before,  derived  no  satisfaction  from  the 
fact.  There  were  times,  especially  when  he  was 
quarrelling  with  his  brother,  when  Theodore 
almost  resented  his  incapacity  to  be  wrong.  Even 
now,  as  he  walked  away  through  the  dark  wood, 
he  thought  enviously  rather  than  compassionately 
of  Guy,  ascetically  alone,  working  with  the  fever 
of  aspiration  in  his  veins  and  the  hot  gleam  of  the 
enthusiast  in  his  eyes.  Theodore,  returning  to  the 
praise  and  comfort  which  attend  success,  and  to 
the  large  equable  life  of  Old  Place,  felt  that  in  some 
indefinite  way  Guy  had  stolen  his  birthright. 

That  evening  Guy,  thinking  of  his  brother  at 
Old  Place,  without  envy,  hugged  closely  to  his 


194  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

heart  the  compensations  of  an  outlaw.  He  had 
scrawled  in  haste  a  theme  which  branched  like  the 
heavenly  mustard  seed.  To-morrow  he  might  find 
the  music  vanishing  between  the  lines  of  his  MS. 
To-night  he  felt  the  creator's  joy  who  believes  that 
his  work  is  good.  His  momentary  happiness  as  an 
artist  filled  him  with  tenderness  for  all  the  world  ; 
and,  on  a  background  of  bewilderment  and  pain, 
he  saw  glimmering  the  face  of  his  absent  wife  as 
she  had  slept  under  his  eyes  on  the  morning  of  her 
departure.  He  decided  that,  as  soon  as  his 
symphony  was  finished,  he  would  bring  her  home. 
He  would  not  go  for  her  until  he  had  finished.  Her 
return  might  break  his  inspiration. 

§4 

For  several  weeks  Guy's  execution  of  his  duty 
as  musical  critic  of  the  Moderator  left  nothing  to 
be  desired.  Then  the  symphony  again  gripped 
him  hard,  and  he  omitted  one  week  to  note  that 
his  article  was  overdue. 

Severely  reprimanded  by  Henderson,  he  called 
at  the  office  to  justify  himself.  The  pain  of  his 
wife's  absence  and  the  effort,  always  intense  and 
only  seldom  happy,  to  govern  his  musical  ideas, 
made  him  impatient  of  all  discipline  and  resentful 
of  details.  On  the  day  of  his  visit  to  Henderson, 
it  did  not  improve  matters  that,  having  had 
nothing  to  eat  that  morning,  he  first  visited  a  bar 
which  stood  adjacent.  He  came  to  his  interview 
primed  for  a  hearty  dispute,  and  he  did  not  fail 
to  impart  to  it  an  alcoholic  bluster  which  Henderson 
deprecated  to  the  extent  of  pointedly  retreating  to 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  195 

a  far  corner  of  the  room  and  throwing  up  the 
window.  Then  and  there  Henderson  determined 
to  look  sidelong  for  a  successor. 

The  end  came  suddenly  and  soon.  A  member 
of  Henderson's  staff  had  been  recently  returned  to 
Parliament,  and  Henderson  decided  to  give  a 
dinner  at  the  Savoy  in  celebration  of  the  occasion. 
Henderson  was  doubtful  of  the  propriety  of  in- 
cluding his  musical  critic,  who  was  at  the  best  of 
times  a  possible  discord.  He  accordingly  postponed 
the  delivery  of  the  card  inviting  Guy  to  the 
party. 

On  the  day  appointed  for  the  dinner  Guy  was 
sitting  in  the  office  writing  his  weekly  article  when 
Henderson  passed  through  to  his  private  room. 
Guy  turned  to  greet  him  and  Henderson  at  once 
decided  to  withhold  the  invitation.  Guy  had  that 
day  the  fanatical  look  of  a  man  who  wrestles  with 
tasks  to  which  he  is  divinely  urged.  His  eyes  were 
haggard.  The  unkempt  look  of  the  hermit  was 
about  him  ;  and  he  was  vacant  in  his  rejoinders. 
His  coat  was  burned  and  soiled  with  the  ashes  of 
his  pipe.  His  hair,  which  should  have  been  cut 
several  weeks  ago,  almost  flamed  above  the  cold 
bright  blue  of  his  brooding  eyes.  He  had  scarcely 
broken  his  fast  that  day,  and  he  had  been  com- 
pelled to  obtain  energy  for  his  hateful  labour  of 
the  unwilling  penman  in  a  fashion  which  produced 
in  the  apprehensive  nostrils  of  Henderson  an 
imperceptible  twitching. 

Guy  would  have  left  the  office  in  happy  ignorance 
of  the  festivity  from  which  he  was  debarred,  had 
it  not  been  for  Theodore's  unexpected  arrival  on 


106  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

the  scene.  Theodore  came  to  enquire  the  time  of 
the  dinner,  and,  seeing  Guy,  applied  to  him  for 
information.  Guy  said  he  had  heard  nothing  at  all 
about  it.  Theodore  said  that  all  the  staff  was  to 
be  there,  and  that  he  himself  had  seen  a  card  made 
out  in  Guy's  name  on  the  Editor's  desk. 

Theodore  went  upstairs  to  Henderson. 

He  returned  with  the  news  that  the  dinner  was 
mainly  political,  and  that  Guy,  being  notoriously 
indifferent  to  politics,  was  not  asked  to  attend. 
He  looked  closely  at  his  brother,  and  then  with 
a  slight  shrug  left  the  office. 

Guy  thought  little  of  this  incident  at  the  time, 
but  half  an  hour  later,  as  he  sat  on  a  tall  stool  in 
an  adjacent  bar,  the  circumstances  vividly  re- 
curred. He  had  by  that  time  the  keenness  of 
vision,  almost  amounting  to  clairvoyance,  some- 
times attained  by  those  who  drink  unwisely  upon 
an  empty  stomach.  He  remembered  the  twitching 
of  Henderson's  nose. 

He  put  his  glass  down  emphatically  on  the 
counter. 

"  I  could  almost  believe,"  he  muttered,  "  that 
the  fellow  was  smelling  me." 

"  This  requires  to  be  investigated,"  he  told 
himself  a  moment  later. 

He  ordered  another  whiskey  and  soda.  A 
number  of  incidents,  unnoticed  at  the  time,  danced 
into  his  head  and  out  again,  all  seeming  to  push 
him  to  a  conclusion  as  yet  distant  and  unidentified. 
There  had  been  an  invitation  for  him  on  the 
Editor's  table.  What  was  going  to  happen  ? 
Something  festive.  Oh,  yes,  he  remembered  it 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  19T 

now.  It  was  a  feast.  Theodore  had  said  it  was  a 
political  feast.  Nevertheless  that  fellow  who  wrote 
about  pictures  had  come  into  the  office  while  he 
was  writing  his  article,  and  now  he  remembered 
distinctly  that  the  chief  clerk  had  said  something 
about  8.15  in  the  Pinafore  Rooms.  Why  was 
that  silly  aesthete  going  to  a  political  dinner  ? 

"  I  know,"  said  Guy  aloud,  to  the  surprise  of 
the  gentleman  on  the  next  stool.  "  It  isn't  a 
political  dinner." 

And  then  that  other  incriminating  fact  re- 
curred. 

Henderson's  nostrils  had  indubitably  twitched.  In 
a  moment  he  saw  the  whole  affair.  All  the  staff, 
including  Theodore,  were  going  to  a  big  dinner  at 
the  Savoy,  but  he,  it  seems,  was  to  be  kept  out 
of  it,  because  Henderson  had  an  abnormally 
sensitive  nose. 

He  saw  himself  encircled  with  sly  conspiracy. 
He  remembered  an  incident  in  his  childhood  when 
there  had  been  a  plan  to  exclude  him  from  a  party 
because  he  had  notably  misbehaved  himself.  On 
that  occasion  he  had  proved  one  too  many  for  his 
oppressors  by  hiding  under  the  tea  table.  The 
incident  had  ended  in  marzipan  and  jam  tarts, 
which  tasted  all  the  better  for  being  the  pledge  of 
his  victory.  He  particularly  remembered  how, 
under  the  table,  he  had  tickled  the  legs,  faultlessly 
ending  in  white  socks  and  shiny  black  shoes,  of 
dear  little  Theodore,  who  hadn't  misbehaved 
himself  at  all. 

"  Yes,"  said  Guy,  with  a  grave  smile  at  the  lady 
behind  the  counter.  "  I  tickled  his  legs." 


198  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

§  5 

The  moderators  assembled  at  eight  o'clock  and 
walked  into  dinner  at  8.15.  The  principal  guest, 
a  junior  cabinet  minister,  was  uncertain  whether 
he  would  be  present.  A  cover  was  laid  for  him 
on  the  right  of  Henderson.  Everything,  so  far, 
was  according  to  plan,  and  Henderson  smiled  upon 
a  distinguished  company.  Over  the  soup  someone 
commented  on  the  absence  of  Guy,  who,  to  the 
satisfaction  of  the  younger  members,  often  suc- 
ceeded in  stemming  the  Carltonese  of  the  older 
political  contingent. 

"  Our  musical  critic  will  not  be  here  to-night," 
said  Henderson. 

To  the  older  men,  near  at  hand,  and  well  out  of 
hearing  of  Theodore,  he  added  that  he  had  taken 
measures  for  the  exclusion  of  their  young  friend 
in  view  of  his  unfortunate  condition  not  two 
hours  ago. 

"  It  was  rather  a  problem,"  he  said,  "  but  I 
fancy  we  handled  it  successfully." 

Henderson  spoke  too  soon.  At  the  double  doors 
in  the  centre  of  the  longer  side  of  the  room  there 
was  suddenly  an  apparition.  The  light  shimmered 
upon  a  mass  of  gleaming  hair,  desperately  brushed 
but  defying  all  restraint.  Eyes,  which  were  two 
blue  points  of  light,  glittered  from  under  this 
shining  thatch  and  from  the  midst  of  a  countenance 
ruddy  with  excitement  and  burnished  from  the 
towel.  A  tie,  more  or  less  white,  protruded  out- 
rageously from  under  one  ear.  The  vest  and  tail 
coat  were  in  order  ;  but  in  the  dim  light  of  a 
Hampstead  room  the  intruder  had  mistakenly 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  199 

put  on  a  pair  of  blue  serge  trousers  a  little  baggy  at 
the  knees. 

Guy  advanced  into  the  room  with  the  delicate 
deliberation  of  a  man  who  knows  that  he  is  in 
complete  possession  of  his  faculties,  but  rather 
fears  that  his  friends  may  have  a  doubt  of  it. 
Henderson,  seeing  his  most  important  function  for 
many  months  threatened  with  eclipse,  gazed  sternly 
upon  the  intruder.  Guy  wore  the  look  of  a  small 
boy  who  has  outwitted  his  enemies,  and  can  with 
difficulty  restrain  himself  from  putting  his  tongue 
out. 

He  walked  skilfully  towards  the  vacant  chair  on 
Henderson's  right  hand,  and  sat  down  with  extreme 
accuracy.  He  bent  confidentially  towards  his 
host,  and  carefully  inquired  whether  he  might 
borrow  a  five  shilling  piece.  He  said  something 
about  having  a  cab  outside. 

With  strategical  promptitude  Henderson  pressed 
half  a  sovereign  into  his  hand,  accompanied  him 
to  the  double  door,  and  with  severe  satisfaction 
watched  him  safely  into  the  corridor.  The  head 
waiter  was  instructed  not  to  re-admit  the 
gentleman.  The  door,  if  necessary,  must  be 
guarded. 

The  head  waiter  placed  sentries  in  position,  and 
Theodore  quietly  left  the  room  to  intercept  his 
brother  and  take  charge  of  him.  Theodore  could 
find  Guy  in  none  of  the  adjacent  passages,  and, 
returning,  answered  Henderson's  unspoken  query 
with  a  re-assuring  nod.  The  incident,  briefly  de- 
plored by  the  older  men  and  briefly  enjoyed  by 
the  younger  ones,  appeared  to  be  terminated. 
Henderson,  resuming  his  soup,  smiled  grimly  at  the 
waiters  by  the  double  door. 


200  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

Suddenly,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  room,  a 
smaller  door  was  seen  abruptly  to  open.  From 
this  undefended  breach  in  the  citadel  Guy,  looking 
from  Henderson  to  the  three  waiters  guarding  the 
opposite  side,  broke  into  a  broad  sly  smile  and  for 
a  sign  of  triumph  lifted  his  forefinger  playfully. 

Clearly  it  was  a  victory.  The  three  waiters, 
moving  dutifully  towards  the  intruder,  were 
checked  by  a  glance  from  the  head  of  the  table, 
and  the  younger  men,  with  creditable  presence  of 
mind,  ostentatiously  made  room  for  him  below 
the  salt. 

Guy  devoted  his  evening  almost  solely  to 
Henderson.  He  did  not  once  look  at  his  brother, 
and  he  said  hardly  a  word  to  his  immediate  com- 
panions. He  was  bent  upon  proving  to  the  fellow 
who  had  almost  seemed  to  smell  him  that  in  the 
first  place  he  had  never  in  his  life  been  recognisably 
under  the  influence  of  drink,  and  that  in  the  second 
place  when  it  came  to  a  really  personal  encounter 
between  them,  Guy  Reval  was  the  better  man. 
To  prove  that  he  began  the  evening  sober,  he 
insisted  that  the  waiters,  who  had  a  tendency  to 
omit  the  replenishing  of  his  glass,  should  do  their 
duty  by  him.  He  waited  for  the  man  to  come 
round,  met  him  with  a  stony  stare,  and  indicated 
with  a  gesture  that  a  certain  glass  was  notoriously 
empty.  Otherwise  he  looked  continually  at  Hen- 
derson and  waited  smilingly  for  his  speech. 

Against  all  reason  and  very  much  against  his 
will,  Henderson  became  increasingly  uncomfortable 
under  the  relentlessly  smiling  contemplation  to 
which  he  was  thus  submitted.  He  felt  the  presence 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  J01 

of  an  active  impropriety,  of  something  that  mocked 
at  the  urbanities  he  represented  and  that  discounted 
in  advance  the  sober  periods  in  which  he  shortly 
intended  to  celebrate  the  dignity  and  influence  of 
the  higher  journalism.  Henderson  had  the  habit 
of  an  orator  before  oratory  had  been  submitted  to 
the  influence  of  a  democratic  platform.  He  had  a 
sympathetic  audience  in  the  older  men,  and  he 
expected  to  charm  and  impress  the  cabinet 
minister  who  had  by  this  time  arrived. 

It  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that  he  con- 
trived to  speak  at  all.  What  chance  of  success 
has  the  orator  who  looks  round  for  sympathy,  and 
meets  an  implacable  Mephistophelian  blue  eye  in 
which  he  is  relentlessly  mocked ;  who  cannot 
forget  that,  beneath  his  sacred  table,  there  rests  a 
pair  of  legs  indecently  clad  in  blue  serge  ;  whose 
fingers  twitch  to  set  right  a  discursive  white  tie, 
partially  eclipsed  by  an  ear  bent  to  listen  with 
exaggerated  respect  to  the  voice  of  wisdom  ;  who, 
amid  the  murmured  assent  and  corroboration  of 
his  guests,  infallibly  waits  for  an  over  emphatic 
and  too  distinct  "  hear,  hear,"  which  somehow 
pricks  the  rhetorical  bubble  before  it  can  soar  to 
the  height  of  the  occasion  ? 

Henderson  sat  down  knowing  that,  by  no  fault 
of  his  own,  he  had  failed  to  do  himself  justice. 

The  speech  of  the  cabinet  minister  was  per- 
functory and  brief.  The  minister  was  not  aware 
that  anything  was  really  wrong,  but  he  was  tired, 
and  still  had  work  to  do  that  evening.  Henderson, 
who  thought  that  everyone  at  the  table  was  as 
painfully  aware  of  Guy  as  he  himself,  attributed 


202  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

the  flatness  of  the  minister's  speech  to  the  circum- 
stance which  had  spoiled  his  own.  His  only  con- 
solation was  mentally  to  phrase  the  letter  of  dis- 
missal he  would  write  to-morrow. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  proceedings,  when  the 
cabinet  minister  had  gone,  Guy  himself  was  ob- 
served to  rise  suddenly  to  his  feet.  Apparently 
he,  too,  had  a  speech  to  make.  He  was  heard  to 
utter  the  word  "  moderators  "  distinctly.  But  the 
effort  to  articulate  required  so  much  concentration 
of  the  faculties  that  he  had  no  attention  to  spare 
for  his  legs.  The  accumulating  weakness  of  several 
months  seemed  suddenly  to  find  a  seat  in  them. 

When  they  carried  him  to  the  window  they  found 
he  had  actually  fainted.  His  brother  accompanied 
him  home  to  Hampstead  and  put  him  to  bed. 
The  indignation  which  Theodore  had  steadily  en- 
couraged in  himself  through  the  evening  was 
checked  by  his  discovery  that  his  brother  was 
suffering  as  much  from  too  little  food  as  from  too 
much  alcohol. 

Guy,  sobered  by  his  sudden  illness,  sat  with  his 
brother  in  the  cab  feeling  rather  like  a  child  in 
disgrace  ;  but  the  sole  effect  of  a  comment  from 
Theodore  on  the  evening's  work  was  to  spur  him 
to  a  blustering  defiance  of  the  consequences. 
Theodore  had  a  great  deal  to  say,  but  he  had  also 
a  clear  perception  that  this  was  hardly  the  time 
to  say  it. 

On  the  following  day  Guy  received  a  message 
through  the  post  to  the  effect  that  he  might  cease 
to  regard  himself  as  a  member  of  the  staff. 


CHAPTER  XI 

§  i 

GUY'S  career  as  a  respectable  journalist  was  for 
the  moment  ended.  Shortly  after  his  dis- 
missal from  the  Moderator,  he  accepted  a  post  as 
musical  critic  on  a  weekly  organ  which  underpaid 
its  contributors  (or  did  not  pay  them  at  all)  for 
reviling  its  more  reputable  contemporaries.  Theo- 
dore in  vain  dissuaded  him  from  thus  proscribing 
himself. 

He  equally  failed  to  influence  his  brother  in 
another  matter.  Theodore's  work  at  the  bar  and 
his  interests  as  a  prospective  candidate  for  a 
doubtful  seat  in  the  House  left  him  no  further  time 
for  his  work  as  Lord  Melsham's  secretary.  Guy 
was,  at  Theodore's  suggestion,  invited  to  fill  the 
post.  Lord  Melsham  thought  that  responsibility 
and  regular  work  might  steady  him.  Guy,  how- 
ever, could  not  be  persuaded.  He  was  still  ab- 
sorbed by  his  music,  and  had  just  sufficient  con- 
fidence and  pleasure  in  it  to  support  him  in  the 
belief  that  he  had  a  right  to  stand  against  the 
world,  to  play  the  outcast,  and  nourish  a  contempt 
of  worldliness  in  all  its  forms. 

He  took  long  solitary  walks,  in  course  of  which 
he  liked  to  pass  the  warm  houses  where  safe  and 
comfortable  people  sat  down  to  regular  meals,  or 
slept  upon  the  best  bedding,  while  he,  a  lonely 

203 

o 


204  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

zealot,  his  head  humming  with  the  music  which 
moved  him  so  mightily  till  he  had  actually  set  it 
down,  passed  them  by,  his  breath  lying  mistily 
upon  the  cold  air,  a  sense  of  outlawry  and  adventure 
wanning  his  blood,  proud  to  feel  that  he  had  now 
no  need  of  the  ease  and  security  desired  by  timid 
souls,  but  that  he  was  living  his  own  secluded  life, 
frugal  and  unencumbered,  in  order  that  genius 
might  have  its  way.  In  such  a  mood  as  this  Guy 
scornfully  dismissed  Lord  Melsham's  offer.  It  was 
the  world's  way  to  have  ready  a  pinch  of  salt  for 
the  tail  of  a  free  spirit.  He  buried  himself  wilfully 
away  from  all  corruptors  of  genius  ;  and,  as  the 
days  lengthened  over  the  cottage,  and  spring  began 
to  be  busy  in  the  wood,  he  grew  daily  more  solitary, 
haggard  and  self-consumed. 

Nevertheless  his  desire  for  Sabina's  return  was 
never  quite  in  abeyance,  and  often  he  was  on  the 
point  of  yielding.  First,  however,  he  must  finish 
his  symphony. 

More  than  once  he  decided  overnight  to  start 
for  Steyning  on  the  following  morning,  a  decision 
which  was  only  broken  when  the  time  came  by  a 
sudden  renewal  of  his  musical  inspiration.  One 
day  he  had  taken  his  ticket  for  Steyning  at  the 
local  station,  when  it  suddenly  became  clear  to 
him  how  he  might  successfully  deal  with  a  passage 
which  hitherto  had  baffled  him.  He  returned  to 
the  cottage,  and  worked  till  nightfall. 

§  2 

The  day,  however,  came  at  last,  a  warm  day  in 
April,  when  the  decision  taken  overnight,  though 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  205 

the  symphony  was  not  yet  finished,  was  actually 
carried  out.  He  took  the  train  in  the  morning, 
and  arrived  at  the  cottage  where  Sabina  was 
staying  early  in  the  afternoon.  It  was  a  small  and 
isolated  dwelling  under  the  shoulder  of  the  Downs. 
Guy  was  amazed,  now  that  he  was  so  near  to 
Sabina,  that  he  had  remained  wilfully  away  so 
long.  Had  she  been  living  thirty  yards  from  him 
instead  of  thirty  miles,  he  would  have  brought  her 
back  again  within  a  few  days.  Was  thirty  miles, 
then,  so  effective  a  barrier — thirty  miles  and  the 
rankling  of  a  few  angry  phrases  ? 

Now  that  he  saw  before  him  the  house  where 
she  was  living,  he  could  not  have  left  it  upon  the 
strictest  summons.  Would  he  be  able  to  win  her 
back  ?  Months  of  cold  neglect  and  brief  con- 
strained messages  stood  between  them.  She  had 
allowed  all  that  time  to  pass  without  a  gesture  of 
reconciliaton.  Perhaps  she  had  found  peace  in 
that  place  and  desired  to  keep  it. 

He  walked  to  the  door  and  paused  a  moment 
listening  for  a  sign  of  occupation.  No  sound  came 
to  him  there.  The  only  sign  of  life  was  the  smoke 
from  the  chimney  and  the  windows  opened  wide 
to  the  air.  He  shrank  from  breaking  the  silence, 
and,  stepping  softly  aside  to  one  of  the  windows, 
looked  into  the  room. 

Sabina  was  sitting  at  the  table  reading  a  maga- 
zine. She  had  on  her  face  the  expression  for  which 
he  had  often  teased  her,  an  expression  of  con- 
centration as  of  a  child  intent  upon  a  story  book. 
A  half  emptied  cup  of  tea  stood  beside  her.  On  a 
horse-hair  sofa  on  the  further  side  of  the  room  a 


206  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

woman  lay  sleeping.  It  was  obviously  Sabina's 
sister.  She  had  Sabina's  features,  but  not  Sabina's 
face. 

Sabina  turned  a  page  and  took  up  her  tea-cup 
without  removing  her  eyes  from  the  page.  Guy, 
as  he  looked,  felt  the  tenderness  of  one  who  watches 
someone  dear  doing  immaterial  things,  unconscious 
of  being  observed.  That  he  wag  a  spectator  of 
these  small  actions,  with  the  power  at  once  to 
break  in  and  change  the  picture,  rilled  him  with  a 
queer  pleasure,  in  which  compassion  was  somehow 
mingled.  What  he  saw  was  aloof  and  yet  familiar, 
remote  and  yet  very  dear.  And  the  simplest  act 
thus  viewed  had  an  exaggerated  significance,  as 
though  it  had  been  staged  for  his  enlightenment. 
It  was  like  a  crisis  of  destiny  when  she  took  up 
her  cup. 

To  set  it  down,  Sabina  looked  from  the  book  to 
her  saucer.  In  so  doing  she  caught  sight  of  Guy 
at  the  window7.  For  a  moment  she  stared  at  him 
in  amazement.  Then  she  rose  quickly,  put  her 
finger  to  her  lips,  and  left  the  room.  In  another 
moment  she  was  beside  him  in  the  garden. 

Her  rapid  movement  had  broken  the  wistful 
spell  set  upon  Guy  by  his  sight  of  her  in  the  quiet 
room.  In  the  brief  moment  before  her  appearance 
in  the  garden  he  had  time  to  wonder  how 
she  would  greet  him  and  what  he  would  say  to 
her. 

She  came  to  him  like  a  child,  and  they  neither 
of  them  said  a  word.  All  the  speeches  Guy  had 
thought  to  make  became  impossible.  She  clung 
so  fast,  that  when  at  last  he  gently  tried  to  put 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  207 

her  away  in  order  to  see  and  read  her  looks  she 
seemed  unaware  of  the  effort.  He  realised  in  that 
moment  the  extent  of  her  desolation  during  the 
last  months. 

"  Sabina,"  he  whispered  over  her  bent  head, 
"  I  wanted  to  come  before." 

She  answered,  sobbing  for  her  breath  : 

"  Oh,  Guy,  I  thought  you  had  given  me  up 
altogether.  You  mustn't  be  angry  with  me  again. 
I  can't  bear  it." 

Slowly  the  first  flush  of  their  meeting  subsided, 
and  they  dropped  to  a  discussion  of  what  they 
would  do. 

"  Come  home  to  me,"  Guy  urged. 

"  I  can't,"  said  Sabina.  "  I'll  tell  you  why 
later." 

"  When  ?  " 

"  When  Jim  (that's  my  sister's  husband)  comes 
home.  I'll  meet  you  somewhere." 

"  Why  not  tell  me  now  ?  " 

"  My  sister  might  wake  up." 

"  Why  are  you  so  mysterious  ?  Don't  you  want 
her  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  I  don't  want  her  to  wake  up." 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  let  me  come  into  the 
cottage  ?  I  must  see  Raymond,  you  know." 

"  You  can  see  Raymond,  but  don't  make  a 
noise." 

He  followed  her  into  the  cottage,  and  they  passed 
on  tiptoe  through  the  room  where  Sabina's  sister 
was  sleeping,  to  the  stairs  which  ran  up  from  a  door 
in  the  corner.  Raymond  was  sleeping  in  a  huge 
bed  barricaded  with  bolsters. 


208  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

"  He's  more  like  you  than  he  was,"  said  Guy. 
"  He  has  your  mouth." 

"  Sh — sh,"  said  Sabina. 

Guy  touched  the  child's  lips  lightly  with  his  finger. 

"  Now  you  must  come  away,"  whispered  Sabina. 
"  I  shall  bring  him  back  to  you  soon." 

Outside  the  cottage  he  protested  once  more. 

"  Why  shouldn't  I  stay  ?  " 

"  In  half  an  hour  Jim  will  be  back.  You  will  see 
me  coming  up  the  side  of  the  hill.  It's  lovely  up 
there  on  the  Downs." 

He  kissed  her  and  held  her  a  moment,  and  then 
went  into  the  road.  A  broad  grass  track  zigzagged 
from  the  road  up  the  side  of  the  Down  whose  back 
lay  parallel.  Always  as  he  turned,  Guy  saw  Sabina 
still  standing  at  the  door  of  the  cottage,  a  figure 
which  each  time  grew  smaller,  till  at  last  he  could 
not  see  her  face  distinctly. 

Sitting  on  the  top  of  the  Down,  whence  he 
commanded  the  road  below,  Guy  was  divided 
between  the  happy  promise  of  Sabina's  coming  and 
a  faint  resentment  at  her  refusal  to  let  him  stay 
at  the  cottage.  Instinctively  he  feared  some  per- 
verse reason  for  her  anxiety  to  keep  him  away. 
The  matter  worried  him  at  intervals,  till  at  last, 
pulling  himself  angrily  together,  and  reminding 
himself  that  no  such  perversities  as  he  feared  must 
ever  again  be  permitted  to  come  between  them,  he 
surrendered  wholly  to  the  hour. 

§  3 

Sabina's  unwillingness  to  allow  Guy  to  remain 
at  the  cottage  was  natural  enough. 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  209 

It  was  Sabina's  tragedy  that  the  sense  of  class, 
normally  grounded  upon  mean  or  indifferent 
motives,  was  in  her  case  fostered  by  the  great 
passion  of  her  life.  Her  love  for  Guy  caused  her 
to  brood  upon  her  social  inferiority,  and  made  her 
abnormally  sensitive  to  all  that  divides  people 
according  to  externals.  On  returning  to  her 
sister's  house  she  had  found  that  she  had  left  her 
sister's  life  behind  her.  Hitherto  she  had  only 
been  conscious  of  her  inferiority  to  Guy's  friends 
and  relatives.  Now  she  became  aware  of  her 
superiority  to  the  environment  of  her  girlhood, 
which  insensibly  she  had  outgrown.  She  noticed 
her  sister's  speech,  her  ways  of  eating  and  standing, 
all  the  incorrect  gentilities  or  positive  offences 
whose  existence  Sabina  had  herself  almost  for- 
gotten. Her  sister  had  on  her  the  effect  of  an 
uncouth  version  of  herself,  and  she  often  thought 
to  herself  in  horror  that  thus  she  must  seem  to 
Guy  and  his  friends.  This  was  the  life  from  which 
Guy  had  rescued  her  ;  she  had  left  it  already 
behind  ;  she  wanted  to  stand  clear  from  it  in  his 
thoughts.  Obscurely  she  felt  :"  I  do  not  belong 
to  this  place,  and  he  must  never  see  me  again  as 
a  part  of  it."  She  had  really  gone  some  part  of  the 
way  towards  him.  She  prized  those  few  steps  in 
his  direction,  and  would  never  let  him  think  for  a 
moment  that  she  could  retrace  them.  It  was  not 
that  she  was  ashamed  of  her  people.  There  was 
nothing  base  in  her  passion  for  gentlehood.  It  had 
become  involved  in  her  love,  so  that  anything  which 
threatened  to  recall  or  to  expose  her  humble  begin- 
ning threatened  also  to  endanger  her  hold  upon  Guy. 


210  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

§4 

It  was  not  long  before  Guy,  from  the  summit 
of  the  Down,  saw  a  working  man  coming  along  the 
road  from  Steyning.  He  followed  his  progress 
with  excitement.  Most  likely  it  was  Jim,  coming 
to  release  Sabina.  How  slow  seemed  the  progress 
of  the  man  along  the  distant  road.  Now  he  was 
almost  abreast  of  the  cottage  ;  and,  as  he  turned 
at  the  gate  and  entered,  Guy  banged  the  turf 
joyfully  with  his  stick. 

The  man  disappeared  into  the  cottage,  and  Guy 
waited  eagerly  for  something  to  happen.  In  about 
ten  minutes,  when  Guy  had  begun  to  suffer  agonies 
of  impatience,  Sabina  suddenly  came  from  the 
cottage  door.  She  had  no  hat,  but  was  coming 
just  as  he  had  seen  her  first.  She  crossed  the  road 
with  quick  steps  and  began  to  climb  the  hillside. 

Guy  jumped  to  his  feet  and  went  to  meet  her. 

He  brought  her  to  the  top  of  the  Down,  and  for 
a  long  while  they  rested  there  in  deep  tranquility. 
Sabina  looked  down  over  the  wide  country,  her 
spirit  filled  with  its  spaciousness,  her  face  a  little 
advanced  to  meet  the  air  which  rustled  up  to  them 
over  the  gray-green  turf.  Guy  saw  her  in  profile 
against  the  gracious  line  of  the  Downs  which 
dipped  and  rose  softly  against  the  blue  of  the  sky. 
He  saw  her  as  part  of  the  fragrance  and  colour  of 
the  afternoon,  of  the  soft  green,  the  tender  blue 
and  the  golden  light  upon  the  fields  below. 

They  asked  one  another  many  questions,  each 
desiring  to  fill  the  vacancy  in  their  lives  of  the 
months  of  absence.  Sabina  spoke  little  of  her  time 
with  her  sister.  She  helped  her  sister  with  the 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  211 

house  and  garden  and  poultry.  She  rarely  left 
the  cottage  except  to  shop  in  Steyning.  Of  Guy 
she  wanted  a  full  tale.  He  told  her  of  the  music 
he  was  writing  and  of  his  dismissal  from  the 
Moderator.  At  first  she  was  scared  by  this  un- 
expected news,  and  Guy,  for  the  first  time,  felt 
guilty  in  thinking  of  his  recent  escapade  at  the 
Savoy. 

"  This  music  you're  doing,"  she  said.  "  Will  it 
be  done  in  a  theatre  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  it  won't  be  done  at  all,"  said  Guy 
cheerfully. 

"  Shall  we  get  any  money  for  it  ?  " 

"  I'm  doing  it  for  fun,"  said  Guy. 

"  What's  it  about  ?  " 

"  It  was  going  to  be  about  a  merman  who  lived 
under  the  sea  and  married  a  woman  from  the  land 
who  went  away  and  left  him.  But  the  merman 
turned  into  me  living  alone  in  the  cottage  and 
thinking  of  you." 

"  Then  it's  really  about  me,"  said  Sabina  in  an 
awed  voice.  "  And  I  shan't  be  able  to  understand 
it,"  she  added  a  moment  later. 

She  looked  sadly  at  the  man  who  expressed  his 
love  for  her  in  a  language  she  could  not  read. 

"  I  wish  we  lived  on  a  hill,"  said  Sabina,  after 
one  of  their  long  silences. 

"  This  kind  of  hill  ?  "  said  Guy. 

"  A  hill  without  any  trees,  with  the  sky  all  round 
it.  I  love  the  Downs." 

She  lifted  a  harebell  blown  flat  by  the  light 
breeze  and  supported  it  against  the  wind  with  her 
finger. 


212  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

"  They  are  so  soft  and  big,"  she  said,  talking 
still  of  the  Downs.  "  They  seem  to  be  kind. 
Don't  laugh  at  me,  Guy." 

"Why  shouldn't  we  live  here?"  said  Guy. 
"  We  could  have  a  cottage  in  Steyning,  and  you 
could  come  up  here  as  often  as  you  liked." 

"  Not  in  Steyning,"  said  Sabina  quickly,  thinking 
of  her  sister. 

"  Why  not  in  Steyning  ?  "  Guy  asked. 

"  The  Downs  go  on  for  miles,"  she  answered 
evasively. 

Guy  felt  a  return  of  the  resentment  he  had  felt 
before,  when  she  had  refused  to  let  him  wait  at  the 
cottage. 

"  Did  you  see  Jim  ?  "  she  went  on  suddenly, 
with  seeming  inconsequence. 

"  I  did,"  said  Guy  ;  "  if  it  was  Jim  that  came 
home  just  now." 

"  Jim  is  a  bricklayer,"  said  Sabina,  looking  at 
Guy  and  flushing  imperceptibly. 

"  I  once  wanted  to  be  a  bricklayer,"  said 
Guy. 

"  You  needn't  be  funny  about  it,"  said  Sabina. 

"  Jim  be  hanged,"  said  Guy.  "  Why  aren't 
you  coming  home  with  me  to-night  ?  " 

"  My  sister  has  no  one  to  stay  with  her." 

"  Must  she  have  someone  ?  " 

"  Of  course." 

"  Why,  is  anything  the  matter  with  her  ?  " 

"  Didn't  you  notice  ?  She's  going  to  have  a 
baby  seven  weeks  from  now." 

"  It  will  be  seven  ages." 

"  I  believe  you  do  love  me,  Guy." 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  213 

§  5 

Sabina  stayed  till  sunset.  They  passsd  the  time 
sitting  or  rambling,  as  the  mood  took  them.  It 
was  getting  dark  when  they  at  last  descended  the 
hill.  Their  hearts  were  full  of  the  time  they  had 
had  together,  almost  unshadowed.  Sabina  lingered 
as  they  approached  the  road,  and  at  last  brought 
Guy  to  a  stand. 

"  It's  been  beautiful,"  she  said.  "  Say  good-bye 
here.  I  will  come,  and  sit  here  in  the  evenings 
and  think  of  it." 

"  It  seems  silly  for  me  to  go  away  like  this," 
said  Guy. 

Sabina  fidgeted  nervously  with  her  foot. 

"  Don't  spoil  it,  Guy.  I  don't  want  you  to  come 
to  the  cottage." 

"  But  why  not  ?  " 

"  Please,  dear,  allow  me  to  know  what's  best." 

"  Because  Jim's  a  bricklayer  ?  "  said  Guy,  bitter 
at  heart. 

Sabina's  face  began  to  have  the  look  he  feared. 

"  Sabina,  say  it  isn't  that." 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  come,"  she  repeated.  She 
caught  at  him  with  a  little  gesture  of  desperation. 
"  Don't  let's  quarrel  about  it,  Guy.  It's  just 
something  I  ask  you." 

Her  eyes  filled  with  tears  to  enforce  her  appeal, 
and  Guy  felt  how  poor  a  thing  it  would  be  to  deny 
the  whim  which  possessed  her.- 

"  Very  well,"  he  said. 

"  This  is  good-bye,  then,"  he  added,  with  dis- 
content in  his  voice. 

"  No,  Guy,  not  like  that.     Be  patient  with  me." 


214  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

Suddenly  overwhelmed  with  shame  for  his 
childishness,  he  took  her  in  his  arms,  and  for  a 
moment  they  stood  deeply  embraced. 

"  There,  darling,"  said  Guy  at  last.  "  Go  now, 
if  you  must." 

At  the  foot  of  the  hill  she  paused  and  waved  to 
him.  As  he  waved  back  at  the  frail  dim  figure 
below,  he  realised  that  this  unreasonable  parting 
left  him  restless  and  unsatisfied.  He  had  yielded 
to  a  whim  for  which  he  had  no  respect.  They  had 
kept  the  peace,  but  only  by  avoiding  the  issue 
which  lay  between  them. 


CHAPTER  XII 

§  i 

GUY  pushed  on  rapidly  with  his  composition, 
and  it  was  soon  almost  finished. 
The  time  with  Sabina,  which  had  seemed  so 
perfect,  had  left  him  strangely  dejected.  He  came 
to  realise  clearly  that  they  had  only  avoided  another 
wretched  quarrel  owing  to.  his  forbearance.  He 
divined  exactly  the  motive  which  had  prompted 
Sabina  to  keep  him  away  from  her  sister.  That 
sudden  sentence  flung  out  with  the  irrelevance  that 
so  often  reveals  coherence  in  the  inward  thought 
had  given  him  the  key.  Jim  was  a  bricklayer. 
Guy  was  secretly  revolted  by  the  sensitiveness  of 
Sabina  to  such  things.  He  saw  the  baseness  of  the 
motive  without  seeing  the  deeper  sources  from 
which  it  sprang.  He  wished  sometimes  he  had 
dragged  her  reasons  into  the  open  and  denounced 
them.  He  had  acquiesced  only  because  he  loved 
her  ;  but  what  sort  of  love,  he  asked  himself, 
would  they  be  able  to  base  upon  such  a  lack 
of  candour  in  their  dealings  as  was  here  im- 
plied ? 

Thinking  of  Sabina  in  this  way,  he  no  longer 
felt  his  bereavement  as  an  inspiration.  He  was 
divided  between  a  feverish  desire  for  her  return 
and  an  uneasiness  regarding  it  which  distracted 
him  in  a  way  hopelessly  barren.  He  realised  that, 

21ft 


216  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

though    there    may    be    inspiration    in    suffering, 
worry  is  merely  a  nuisance. 

Guy  was  at  the  most  discouraging  of  all  moments 
for  the  immature  artist.  The  hot  fit  of  creation 
had  passed  and  he  was  now  assessing  the  results. 
The  perfection  he  had  hoped  to  grasp  had  eluded 
him,  and,  judging  what  he  had  done  by  what  he 
had  hoped  to  do,  he  was  easily  inclined  to  despair. 
He  began  to  wonder  whether  what  he  had  actually 
composed  would  mean  anything  at  all  to  a  stranger. 
He  longed  for  judgment,  for  someone  to  destroy 
for  ever  his  dream  of  creation,  or  to  assure  him 
that  he  was  not  wholly  uninspired.  The  positive 
impulse  had  for  the  moment  died  in  him  ;  he  was 
now  a  merciless  critic,  \vho  read  or  played  a  score 
and  saw  only  its  technical  insufficiency. 

§   2 

It  was  in  such  a  mood  of  misbelief  and  dejection 
that  some  six  weeks  after  his  visit  to  Steyning  he 
unexpectedly  met  Marian  by  the  great  beech. 
Marian  was  now  staying  at  Old  Place.  The  post 
of  secretary  to  Lord  Melsham  which  Guy  had 
rejected  had  at  Theodore's  further  suggestion  been 
offered  to  Marian.  Lord  Melsham  was  a  little 
singular  at  that  time  in  his  decision  to  take  a  lady 
secretary,  but  he  was  soon  able  to  congratulate 
himself  upon  the  result.  Marian  liked  the  work. 
That  it  made  of  her  a  constant  neighbour  for  Guy 
did  not  seem  greatly  to  matter,  for  Guy  now  avoided 
Old  Place,  and  Marian  had  already  been  some 
months  in  residence  before  they  met. 

It    was    their    first    meeting    since    Theodore's 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  217 

proposal  and  Sabina's  flight.  Marian,  who  at  first  was 
self-conscious,  and  disposed  to  think  that  Guy  had 
deliberately  held  aloof  in  deference  to  Sabina,  soon 
discovered  that  he  was  still  unaware  that  there 
was  any  need  for  reserve  in  their  relationship. 
She  was  shocked  by  the  change  in  him.  He  had 
grown  careless  of  his  personal  appearance,  and  was 
grossly  neglecting  his  health.  Further,  he  had  the 
air  of  a  man  living  in  solitude.  He  was  like  a  person 
who,  having  lived  for  some  time  in  a  badly-lighted 
room,  comes  blinking  into  the  sun.  He  walked 
back  with  her  to  the  edge  of  the  park,  gradually 
warming  to  her  friendliness.  She  once  or  twice 
endeavoured  to  enquire  after  Sabina,  but  Guy 
would  talk  only  of  his  symphony. 

At  parting  he  yielded  to  a  sudden  impulse,  and 
asked  whether  she  would  come  to  the  cottage  on 
the  following  day  in  order  to  hear  it.  It  seemed  as 
though  she  had  been  sent  to  him  that  day  by  a 
special  providence.  He  had  desired  above  all 
things  the  judgment  of  a  friend.  Here  was  a  friend 
who  would  be  honest  with  him  and  a  friend  whose 
verdict  might  set  his  doubts  at  rest. 

On  the  following  day,  during  the  meal  which 
preceded  the  audition,  Marian  could  only  with 
difficulty  prevent  herself  from  yielding  to  an 
inward  panic.  It  was  the  kind  of  meal  which  was 
only  too  usual  at  the  cottage,  consisting  mainly  of 
food  extracted  from  tins  and  moistened  with  strong 
tea.  The  room,  in  its  customary  confusion, 
abundantly  testified  to  the  fact  that  Guy  had  long 
ago  dismissed  the  woman  who  used  to  help  with 
the  cottage  work.  He  was  by  turns  irrelevantly 


218  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

gay  and  needlessly  intense.  Marian  felt  that  she 
was  assisting  at  a  crisis.  The  fact  that  he  wanted 
her  to  tell  him  what  she  thought  of  his  music,  and 
that  he  had  delivered  his  invitation  in  queer 
accents  of  deprecation,  allowed  her  to  see  the  state 
of  his  mind.  He  had  fanatically  aspired,  but  he 
already  doubted. 

It  was  Guy's  birthday,  and,  when  they  turned 
to  the  piano  he  played  first  some  French  music 
which  Marian  had  brought  him  as  a  gift.  He 
realised  enviously  how  precisely  the  Frenchman 
had  expressed  exactly  what  he  desired.  How 
pleasant  it  must  be  to  have  so  little  to  say  and  to 
be  able  to  turn  it  so  neatly.  He  shut  the  book, 
and  they  talked  uneasily  about  the  music  he  had 
played.  Then  abruptly  he  seized  his  score.  It 
was  blotted  and  thumbed  and  written  in  a  short- 
hand which  few  but  the  composer  could  read  in 
its  present  state.  It  was  stained  with  food  and 
blotched  with  grease  from  the  candles. 

He  played  for  half  an  hour,  but  he  felt,  almost 
at  once,  that  he  had  failed.  He  compared,  as  he 
played,  with  increasing  dismay,  the  music  of  which 
he  had  dreamed  with  the  music  he  had  achieved. 

Marian  was  frankly  puzzled.  Here  and  there 
she  caught  a  hint  of  the  beauty  that  had  evaded 
him.  But  for  the  most  part  she  could  only  feel 
that  Guy,  who  had  been  living  in  a  paradise  of 
disembodied  ideas,  had  been  unable  to  give  them 
a  local  habitation.  Thus  might  a  throng  of  spirits, 
called  suddenly  to  earth,  catch  up  such  garments 
as  fell  in  their  way  and  walk  the  earth  demeaned 
and  commonplace. 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  219 

Convinced  at  last  of  the  futility  of  his  per- 
formance, Guy  ceased  playing.  For  a  moment 
there  was  silence  in  the  room.  They  heard  the 
wind  stirring  the  trees  outside,  and  the  fire  rustling 
in  the  grate.  Then  Guy  abruptly  lifted  his 
eyes  and  resentfully  confronted  his  sentence. 
In  Marian's  looks  he  surprised  compassion  and 
the  desire  to  encourage  him  afresh. 

"  Why  don't  you  tell  me  it's  no  good,"  he  said 
at  last. 

"  There  are  parts  of  it,"  she  began. 

But  she  could  not  continue  under  his  steady  look. 

"  You  think  I've  been  wasting  my  time,"  he 
said. 

Marian  laid  a  hand  upon  his  sleeve. 

"  Why  not  come  back  to  us,  Guy  ?  You  have 
shut  yourself  up  too  long.  You  are  losing  touch 
with  life." 

Guy  pressed  the  hand  which  rested  on  his  sleeve. 

They  remained  for  a  moment  without  speaking. 
Their  attitude  declared  an  old  intimacy  renewed 
under  the  pressure  of  a  strong  emotion. 

§4 

A  shadow  fell  across  the  threshold  of  the  open 
door.  Neither  of  them  perceived  it,  or  looked  up 
to  see  what  it  was  that  came  between  them  and  the 
waning  light.  It  might  have  been  just  one  of  the 
many  shadows  of  nightfall.  The  shadow  remained 
a  moment,  and  then  light  and  rapid  steps  were 
heard  in  the  garden.  Guy  rose  and  went  to  the 
window.  Yet  another  shadow  seemed  to  glide 
away  into  the  wood. 


220  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

"  I  could  have  sworn  somebody  was  in  the 
garden,"  he  said,  returning  to  the  fire. 

A  few  minutes  later  Guy  accompanied  Marian 
back  to  Old  Place.  A  storm  was  threatened  from 
where  the  sun  had  left  low  clouds  topped  with 
vivid  light,  and  a  damp  chill  was  in  the  air.  Marian 
was  home  well  before  these  premonitions  were 
really  alarming,  but  Guy  thought  it  wise  to  lose 
no  time  in  getting  back  to  the  cottage. 

For  some  time  he  busied  himself  with  household 
duties,  and  afterwards  sat  brooding  before  a 
replenished  fire.  He  looked  at  himself  that  evening 
with  an  unusual  steadiness.  He  had  renounced 
the  respectable  world.  He  possessed  in  return  a 
wife  who  was  absent  and  a  symphony  which  he 
would  never  wish  to  hear  performed. 

On  the  whole  he  was  not  getting  much  from  life. 
There  wrere  also  minor  worries.  Finance  was  one 
of  them.  Last  time  he  had  gone  to  town  he  had 
not  even  been  able  to  buy  Mrs.  Basing  the  usual 
box  of  cigarettes,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  had 
paid  none  of  his  debts,  public  or  private. 

Marian  was  right.  As  a  practitioner  of  inde- 
pendence and  the  solitary  life  he  was  a  failure. 

He  must  reconstruct  himself.  So  far  he  had 
yielded  too  easily  to  the  passion  of  the  moment. 
He  had  to  achieve  a  broader  vision  of  things,  to 
live  wisely  in  the  world  and  to  obtain  inward  peace 
for  the  work  he  wished  to  do.  He  would  begin 
with  the  beloved  girl  who  would  soon  be  ready  to 
rejoin  him.  They  must  somehow  achieve  an 
understanding  which  would  leave  no  room  for  the 
rankling  imperfection  of  their  last  encounter.  He 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  221 

must  prevail  with  her  to  leave  behind  all  that  was 
sullen  and  incommunicable  in  their  life. 

He  drew  a  sheet  of  paper  towards  him  and  began 
to  write  to  her.  He  said  first  that  he  needed  her. 
He  asked  whether  she  was  not  yet  ready  to  come 
back.  He  went  on  to  explain  as  well  as  he  could 
his  present  state  of  mind. 

He  was  diverted  by  the  fall  of  the  first  heavy 
drops  of  the  storm.  He  went  to  the  window  and 
looked  out.  The  last  light  was  leaving  the  sky. 
The  wood  on  the  further  side  of  the  road  tossed 
under  a  squall  which  in  another  moment  smote  the 
cottage  and  brought  with  it  the  premonitory  wet 
chill  of  rain.  He  gave  thought  to  Marian  in  the 
house  with  double  windows.  She  would  be  dres- 
sing for  dinner  in  a  warm  room.  She  would  hardly 
hear  the  rain  which  shortly  would  lash  the  frail 
walls  of  the  cottage  or  the  wind  which  would  shake 
his  walls.  She  would  be  hardly  conscious  of 
the  deep  gloom  which  was  falling  from  the  sky,  of 
the  helplessness  with  which  those  sombre  trees 
and  the  quiet  creatures  of  the  wood  awaited  the 
inevitable  rage  which  would  be  loosened  upon  them 
from  the  further  side  of  the  hill. 

The  squall  passed  and  the  rain  followed.  Guy- 
remained  by  the  open  window,  listening  to  the 
noise  it  made  as  it  passed  down  the  hill.  The 
thunder  hung  off  distantly  a  moment ;  but,  led 
by  a  flash  of  lightning,  arrived  close  upon  the  track 
of  the  rain. 

For  five  minutes  there  was  an  uproar  in  the  wood. 
Then  a  silence  fell  owing  to  a  sudden  and  transitory 
lull.  Guy  was  about  to  close  the  window  when 


222  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

this  silence  was  broken  by  a  cry.  It  came  from  the 
wood,  shrill  and  with  terror  in  it.  Guy  remembered 
the  shadow  which  had  glided  into  the  wood  that 
afternoon.  He  caught  up  his  hat  and  hurried  in 
the  direction  of  the  cry. 

Before  he  had  got  thirty  yards  from  the  door 
the  rain  returned,  and  with  it  a  wind  which  lashed 
the  bracken  and  shook  water  from  the  trees.  The 
cry  was  repeated  as  he  ran  at  a  venture  down  the 
path  which  led  towards  the  open  glade.  He  arrived 
upon  the  edge  of  the  clearing  just  as  a  vivid  flash 
of  lightning  brought  its  thunder  immediately  in 
train.  Blinded  by  the  darkness  which  followed,  he 
ran  towards  the  great  beech  in  the  centre.  By  the 
light  of  the  flash  he  had  seen  a  figure  running. 
There  was  another  cry  which  caused  him  to  shiver 
as  he  ran. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

§  i 

MANY  times,  before  Guy  had  come  to  Steyning, 
Sabina  had  been  on  the  point  of  returning  to 
Brambletye,  but  always  at  the  last  she  was  with- 
held, partly  by  pride  and  partly  by  the  memory 
of  his  fatal  saying. 

"  We  cannot  go  on  like  this." 

The  words  recurred  continually.  They  had 
made  her  realise  how  much  she  was  making  him 
suffer.  Thus  she  had  drawn  equally  upon  the 
bitterness  and  sweetness  of  her  nature  in  fortifying 
her  decision  to  leave  him  free  for  a  while. 

After  his  visit,  however,  she  had  decided  to 
return  at  the  earliest  possible  moment.  Her 
sister's  baby  was  born  about  six  weeks  afterwards, 
and  Sabina  made  arrangements  to  go  to  Brambletye 
and  to  surprise  Guy  upon  his  birthday  (which  was 
due  in  a  few  days),  leaving  Raymond  for  the 
moment  with  her  sister. 

Having  made  up  her  mind  to  visit  him  on  that 
day,  she  could  not  be  turned  aside,  though  she  was 
forced  to  admit  to  her  sister  before  starting  that 
she  was  feeling  far  from  well.  She  shivered  even  in 
the  sun.  Her  sister  had  urged  her  not  to  go. 
But  Sabina's  mind  troubled  her  more  than  her 
body,  and  the  cure  for  her  mind  lay  in  this  journey 
she  had  decided  to  take. 

223 


224  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

The  day  came  without  a  word  from  Guy.  She 
arrived  by  train  and  walked  to  the  cottage  from 
the  local  station.  It  was  high  afternoon  when  she 
reached  the  wood.  She  walked  to  the  cottage 
dcor  with  a  dry  mouth  and  a  beating  heart.  She 
saw  that  smoke  rose  from  the  chimney,  and  that 
the  door  was  open.  Something  prompted  her  to 
make  no  noise  as  she  came.  She  wanted,  if 
possible,  to  see  Guy  as  he  lived  when  unconscious 
of  her  presence. 

When  she  looked  through  the  door  Guy  had  his 
hand  upon  the  hand  of  Marian.  There  had  clearly 
been  between  them  something  which  had  left  them 
deeply  moved. 

§   2 

Sick  with  resentment  Sabina  turned  and  walked 
rapidly  into  the  wood. 

Scarcely  a  day  had  passed  in  which  she  had  not 
brooded  upon  her  separation  from  Guy.  Alter- 
nately she  had  suffered  contrition  for  the  loneliness 
in  which  she  had  left  him  and  resentment  at  the 
way  in  which  he  had  accepted  her  desertion.  She 
returned  to  find  him  engrossed  by  the  intimacy 
she  had  always  feared.  She  assumed  that  the 
scene  she  now  saw  was  part  of  his  normal  life. 

She  left  the  path  and  hid  herself  in  the  under- 
growth. She  wanted  to  be  quiet,  to  discover 
exactly  how  hard  this  discovery  was  to  bear.  She 
sat  still  with  her  face  buried  in  her  hands,  tearlessly 
probing  into  her  consciousness  as  a  sufferer  will 
probe  an  aching  tooth. 

She  did  not  stir,  even  when  she  heard  steps  in 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  225 

the  wood  and  knew  that  Guy  and  Marian  were 
passing  through  on  their  way  to  Old  Place. 

A  gust  of  wind  heavy  with  raindrops  struck  her 
at  last,  and  she  recovered  sufficiently  to  note  with 
a  tremor  that  it  was  almost  dark  and  that  a  storm 
was  threatened.  She  rose  to  her  feet  stiff  with 
cold.  In  spite  of  the  unhappiness,  which  seemed 
beyond  anything  she  would  ever  feel  again,  she  was 
already  menaced  with  an  emotion  sharper  and 
more  compelling.  Beside  the  new  terror,  which 
began  to  possess  her,  of  being  benighted  among 
the  trees,  her  previous  condition  seemed  almost 
blessed.  She  hastily  brushed  her  dress,  and, 
darting  a  nervous  look  round,  she  began  to  walk 
rapidly  in  the  direction  of  the  path. 

In  a  growing  panic  she  found  it  increasingly 
difficult  to  advance.  The  undergrowth  thickened 
where  she  expected  it  to  give  way  to  the  open  glade. 
She  turned  about  and  realised  that  she  had  lost 
her  sense  of  direction.  She  heard  thunder,  and 
the  dull  sound  added  to  her  sense  of  the  darkness 
which  was  closing  upon  her.  She  pushed  her  way 
desperately  through  the  likeliest  gap  of  the  circle 
in  which  she  stood. 

Before  the  storm  broke  she  was  baffled  and 
fighting  hard  to  retain  some  little  presence  of  mind. 
It  was  a  losing  battle,  and  soon  she  was  moving 
wildly  about  the  wood,  resisting  only  with  difficulty 
the  temptation  to  scream.  She  was  restrained  by 
the  dread  she  had  of  hearing  her  own  voice  in  that 
place.  She  had  a  feeling  that,  if  she  screamed,  she 
would  lose  all  control  of  herself,  and  that  the  wood 
would  be  immediately  alive  with  presences. 


226  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

Then  suddenly  the  rain  charged  down  from  the 
sky.  For  a  moment  she  cowered  under  the  storm, 
and  then,  sobbing  with  fright,  she  dashed  wildly 
at  a  run  through  the  streaming  bracken. 

Her  skirt  was  wet  through  in  a  moment,  and, 
clinging  about  her  legs,  brought  her  down  heavily 
from  time  to  time.  Struggling  frantically  forward 
she  was  at  last  unable  to  withhold  her  cry,  and 
almost  simultaneously  she  burst  from  the  under- 
growth into  the  beech  glade. 

It  was  as  though  her  cry  had  brought  her  there, 
and  she  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  clearing,  staring 
into  the  dusk  as  though  some  act  of  magic  had 
been  performed.  She  ran  into  the  open,  and  cried 
out  again  as  she  ran.  A  flash  of  lightning  showed 
her  that  she  was  running  towards  the  great  beech. 
The  dazzling  light  revealed  the  tree  as  though 
waiting  to  receive  her,  its  smooth  limbs  spread  to 
embrace  her  as  she  came,  and,  when  darkness 
returned,  she  felt  that  the  trees  about  her  were 
malignant  with  a  life  inexorably  hostile.  She  tried 
to  check  herself.  In  the  act  she  stumbled  and  fell, 
and,  endeavouring  to  rise,  found  that  she  grasped 
a  root  of  the  tree  itself.  She  screamed  again,  with 
a  note  of  fear  in  her  voice  more  urgent  than  any 
she  had  yet  emitted. 

§3 

When  Guy  reached  her  she  lay  apparently  sense- 
less on  the  ground.  He  had  nothing  with  him  that 
could  shield  her  from  the  rain,  and  he  was  himself 
wet  to  the  skin.  He  called  her  urgently  and 
pressed  her  in  his  arms 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  227 

Another  flash  of  lightning,  which  flickered  for  an 
appreciable  time,  showed  him  that  there  was  a 
film  upon  her  eyes.  Her  teeth  chattered,  and,  as 
she  tried  to  speak,  her  breath  came  in  gasps  from 
the  cold  water  which  drenched  her  clothes.  Guy 
could  well  guess  the  wretchedness  of  her  physical 
condition  from  the  effect  upon  himself  of  less  than 
two  minutes  in  that  icy  deluge.  He  lifted  her, 
and  carried  her  to  the  cottage  with  all  the  speed  he 
could  make. 

He  put  her  in  his  chair  before  the  fire  and  ran 
upstairs  for  blankets  and  brandy.  When  he  re- 
turned she  was  on  her  knees  before  the  blaze 
shivering  and  moaning  with  cold.  He  began  at 
once  to  remove  her  things.  She  could  only  sob, 
as  he  tore  at  her  saturated  clothing,  saying  she 
wished  she  was  dead,  and  wanted  only  to  be  left 
alone. 

He  made  her  drink  brandy  in  hot  water.  He 
rubbed  her  dry,  and  put  her  into  a  cocoon  of 
blankets,  and  piled  logs  on  the  fire.  But  she  grew 
continually  more  inert.  He  feared  she  was  about 
to  die.  He  felt  her  slipping  away  from  him  and 
implored  her  to  come  back.  Then  he  realised  that 
she  had  fainted.  He  chafed  her  hands  and  laid 
her  flat  on  the  floor.  She  came  to  herself  very  soon 
with  a  drawing  of  the  breath  that  frightened  him. 

Once  more  he  made  her  comfortable  in  the  chair, 
and  told  her  he  must  get  a  doctor.  He  would  run 
to  the  neighbouring  cottage  and  ask  if  someone 
could  go  to  Old  Place.  She  clung  to  him  and 
begged  him  not  to  leave  her.  He  realised  with 
horror  that  she  did  not  seem  altogether  to  know 


228  THE  HAPPY  FOOT, 

who  he  was,  and  that  her  eyes,  when  she  looked  at 
him,  were  strange.  She  glanced  continually 
towards  the  door. 

"  Keep  it  out,"  she  whispered.     "  Keep  it  out." 

She  almost  infected  him  with  her  fear  of  the  evil 
tree.  The  way  she  spoke  of  it  invested  it  with 
such  life  that  he  half  expected  to  hear  it  come  up 
out  of  the  wood,  and  to  see  one  of  its  smooth  limbs 
push  through  the  window. 

Guy  waited  by  her  side,  his  wet  clothes  hanging 
heavy  on  him  until,  at  the  end  of  about  an  hour, 
she  fell  into  a  stupor.  Then,  praying  that  she 
would  not  notice  his  absence,  he  stole  from  the 
cottage  and  ran  rapidly  to  call  his  neighbour. 
The  storm  had  passed  and  the  man  said  he  would 
go  at  once  to  Old  Place. 

When  Guy  returned  Sabina  was  still  lying  as  he 
left  her.  He  changed  his  clothes  and  waited  in 
an  agony  of  impatience  for  the  doctor.  Soon  she 
began  again  to  talk — not  now  of  the  terror  in  the 
wood,  but  of  their  life  together.  Her  talk  was 
incoherent  ;  but  now  and  then  a  phrase,  in  which 
her  love,  darkened  with  misgivings  but  divine 
beyond  reach  of  ridicule,  thrust  him  to  the  heart. 

The  doctor  arrived  before  midnight.  He  found 
her  not  only  in  high  fever,  but  threatened  with 
pneumonia.  A  fire  was  lighted  in  the  bedroom, 
and  she  was  carried  up.  The  doctor  promised  that 
a  nurse  should  be  sent  as  soon  as  possible. 

§  4 

Three  days  later,  without  once  having  regained 
consciousness,  she  died.  It  was  midnight,  and 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  229 

Guy  was  sleeping  for  the  first  time  since  he  had 
found  her,  when  the  nurse  came  to  him  with  the 
news.  He  saw  it  at  once  in  the  nurse's  face,  and 
went  upstairs. 

He  had  never  before  been  confronted  with  death, 
nor  could  he  think  of  this  as  death  now  that  he 
beheld  it.  There  was  nothing  here  mysterious  or 
terrible.  Tnere  was  no  majesty  or  anything  that 
inspired  him  with  awe  or  any  kind  of  fear.  This 
was  not  death,  but  a  girl  who  would  never  speak 
to  him  or  know  him  again,  who  had  made  him 
suffer,  in  whom  he  had  delighted,  to  whom  he  had 
been  compassionate  and  cruel.  And  all  the  things 
he  might  have  said  to  her  if  their  hearts  had  been 
as  close  as  he  now  desired,  and  all  the  care  he 
might  have  added  to  the  care  he  had  actually 
bestowed  upon  her,  reproached  him.  Everything 
he  had  not  done  for  her,  or  failed  to  give  her  of  all 
the  things  which  now  seemed  to  have  been  her  due, 
up  to  that  last  moment  in  which  he  had  lain 
unresponsively  beside  her  on  the  night  before  she 
left  him,  came  to  accuse  him.  And  he  could  only 
feel  the  pity  of  it. 

Instinctively  he  feared  to  touch  her,  lest  he 
should  realise  that  this  was  not  Sabina  who  had 
just  escaped  him,  but  an  empty  shell,  in  which 
death  alone  resided.  At  dawn  he  was  still  gazing 
at  the  frail  face  of  the  girl  he  loved,  from  which 
all  petulance  had  been  smoothed  away,  whose  lips 
seemed  about  to  break  into  the  faint  smile  he  had 
often  himself  evoked  within  that  very  room  and 
had  often  divined  to  be  there  as  she  lay  beside  him 
in  the  darkness.  At  dawn,  however,  the  candles 


280  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

faded,  and  a  whiter  light  showed  grey  upon  the 
still  figure  he  had  watched  so  long.  It  seemed  as 
though  she  were  really  dying  now,  who  had  hitherto 
been  absent  only.  He  bent  in  sudden  anguish  and 
kissed  her.  Raising  his  head  from  the  awful 
strangeness  of  her  cold  cheek,  he  looked  again. 
Sabina  was  no  longer  there.  He  was  looking  only 
in  the  face  of  death. 


BOOK  III. 


CHAPTER  I 

§  i 

GUY  broke  down  immediately  after  the  funeral, 
partly  from  the  effects  of  careless  living, 
and  partly  from  nervous  exhaustion. 

He  had  returned  to  his  work,  and  was  staying 
in  his  rooms  at  Hampstead.  One  morning  he 
awoke  with  an  illusion  that  he  had  become  un- 
usually light-hearted.  His  landlady  found  him 
alarmingly  incoherent  and  went  to  Fern  Cottage 
to  warn  Aunt  Helen  of  his  condition.  When  she 
returned,  however,  Guy  was  not  to  be  found. 
After  breakfast,  which  he  had  been  unable  to  eat, 
he  had  started  for  Charing  Cross. 

It  was  a  fine  morning,  but  he  shivered  continu- 
ally. He  visited  a  bar  and  called  for  brandy.  He 
felt  better  after  that,  and  leaving  the  bar,  walked 
towards  the  river  and  along  the  Embankment  to 
Westminster.  The  sun  was  warm,  and  the  river 
swept  giddily  round  the  piers  of  the  bridge.  He 
watched  the  shining  eddies  of  water  till  suddenly 
he  had  to  turn  round  to  avoid  the  sensation  that 
the  bridge  itself  was  revolving  on  the  sliding 
surface  of  the  tide. 

His  eye  fell  upon  a  familiar  stretch  of  painted 
flagstones.  He  had  often  stood  on  that  same  spot 
looking  up  and  down  the  river  while  changing 
lights  played  upon  a  picture  which  was  rarely  the 

288 


284  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

same.  He  knew  well  those  painted  flagstones, 
and  the  man  who  sat  on  guard  beside  them  with 
his  hat  upturned  for  pennies.  There  was  a  picture 
of  Nelson,  a  schooner  correct  in  all  its  details,  a 
study  of  surf  and  seagulls.  They  were  nearly  all 
of  them  sea  pieces.  The  artist  was  an  old  sailor, 
to  whom  Guy  had  often  thrown  a  contributory 
sixpence. 

The  old  man  had  left  his  place  for  a  moment, 
refreshment  being  necessary.  The  hat  remained 
expectantly  upturned,  but  the  little  square  of 
sacking,  where  the  man  usually  sat  beside  his 
handiwork,  was  vacant. 

Guy  looked  vaguely  at  the  little  square  of  sacking. 
He  felt  it  was  wrong  that  no  one  should  be  sitting 
there  at  the  receipt  of  custom,  and  he  felt  that 
somehow  he  must,  for  a  while  at  any  rate,  sit  down, 
if  only  to  still  a  trembling  at  the  knees  which  had 
begun  to  worry  him.  He  decided  that  he  must 
look  after  the  business  of  his  ancient  friend  during 
his  absence. 

§   2 

Sitting  upon  the  little  square  of  sacking  was  not 
unpleasant.  The  sun  was  now  so  warm  that  a  fine 
moisture  broke  out  upon  Guy's  forehead  from  the 
mere  effort  of  adjusting  himself  correctly.  It  was 
fun  to  watch  the  people  as  they  went  by.  He 
began  to  wonder,  as  they  came,  how  they  would 
behave.  Some,  he  noted,  passed  on  as  though  they 
did  not  see  the  pictures  on  the  pavement,  because 
they  did  not  want  to  throw  a  penny  into  the  hat. 
He  wondered  whether  it  was  because  they  thought 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  235 

they  ought  not  to  look  at  the  pictures  without 
paying,  or  whether  they  pretended  not  to  notice 
the  pictures  because  they  did  not  want  people  to 
think  they  were  mean  to  pass  the  old  man  by 
without  offering  a  penny.  That  was  a  funny  idea, 
because  the  old  man  was  not  there.  He  tried  to 
be  sure  that  he  really  was  Guy  Reval  and  not  the 
old  man  he  was  impersonating,  and  he  suddenly 
became  horribly  afraid  that  he  was  losing  himself. 

At  this  moment  a  group  of  men  came  from 
Palace  Yard  and  stood  for  a  while  at  the  end  of 
the  bridge.  Three  of  them,  having  some  point  to 
discuss,  began  to  walk  to  and  fro  upon  the  bridge 
before  separating. 

Guy  watched  the  three  men  with  vague  curiosity 
as  they  passed.  They  were  unlike  the  other 
passers-by,  being  so  engrossed  in  their  conversa- 
tion that  they  really  did  not  see  him.  Besides,  at 
least  two  of  them  were  personally  known  to  him. 
One  of  them  was  Theodore.  Guy  was  not  as- 
tonished. Why  should  he  be  ?  Theodore  was 
always  going  into  the  House  of  Commons.  The 
other  one  was  familiar  too.  It  was  Henderson. 

They  passed  twice  without  noticing  him.  He 
wondered  what  they  would  do  if  their  attention 
were  called  to  the  upturned  cap.  Would  they  take 
pity  on  an  old  man  who  chalked  on  the  flagstones 
for  a  livelihood  ?  Seeing  they  were  about  to  pass 
for  a  third  time,  he  pushed  the  old  man's  cap  well 
out  into  the  middle  of  the  pavement  where  they 
would  be  bound  to  see  it. 

Theodore,  in  earnest  conversation  with  a  junior 
member  of  the  cabinet,  suddenly  saw  that  he  was 


236  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

about  to  tread  upon  a  soiled  and  greasy  cap  con- 
taining some  pennies.  He  looked  aside  to  see 
what  this  might  mean,  and  saw  Guy  sitting  on  the 
little  square  of  sacking.  Guy  looked  like  a  sage 
awaiting  the  result  of  a  test  which  should  search 
humanity  to  the  marrow.  Theodore  observed 
that  his  brother  was  unshaven  and  flushed  ;  that 
he  was  without  a  hat  ;  that  his  eyes  were  bright 
and  vague  with  fever.  He  turned  a  moment  and 
pressed  Henderson's  arm.  Henderson  looked  at 
Guy  and  hurried  on  with  his  companion. 

A  cab  happened  to  be  passing  and  Theodore 
summoned  it. 

"  Guy,"  he  asked  peremptorily.  "  How  on  earth 
did  you  get  here  ?  " 

Guy  did  not  know.  He  wanted  to  say  that  he 
had  come  by  water,  but  he  could  not  put  it  into 
very  good  English.  On  the  other  hand  he  was 
immensely  attracted  by  the  cab.  By  a  rare  chance 
it  happened  to  be  one  of  the  few  surviving  hansoms. 

"  Rather  like  a  chariot,"  he  said  vaguely,  as  his 
brother  helped  him  to  rise. 

He  was  driven  to  a  nursing  home,  where  he  was 
carefully  watched  and  nursed  for  seven  or  eight 
weeks.  Thereafter  he  was  transferred  to  Old 
Place,  in  order  that  he  might  have  the  benefit  of 
country  air  and  pleasant  surroundings. 

§  3 

When  at  last  Guy  returned,  convalescent,  to  the 
cottage  at  Brambletye,  his  first  thoughts  were  for 
Raymond.  He  recalled  that,  just  before  Sabina 
had  taken  Raymond  away,  he  had  begun  to  see  in 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  237 

the  eyes  of  his  child  a  look  of  recognition,  and  on 
his  child's  face  a  smile  that  was  unmistakably 
for  him.  The  stir  of  his  heart  under  those  looks 
and  smiles  had  hitherto  been  smothered  by  emotions 
more  urgent.  He  had  so  far  thought  of  his  child 
mainly  as  belonging  to  Sabina,  and,  when  Sabina 
went,  it  had  seemed  natural  that  the  child  should 
go  too.  Often  during  his  illness,  however,  those 
looks  and  smiles  recurred  to  him.  He  wondered 
why  he  had  not  missed  them  before,  and  why  he 
had  been  content  to  leave  his  boy  even  for  a  few 
weeks  with  the  sister  of  his  dead  wife. 

He  went  to  Steyning  himself  to  bring  Raymond 
away,  and  upon  an  evening  some  three  months 
after  the  death  of  Sabina,  as  he  sat  with  his  brother 
at  the  cottage,  he  was  happy  to  think  that  the  boy 
was  sleeping  just  above  their  heads  in  a  cot,  which 
he  had  borrowed  from  Lady  Melsham.  He  had 
carried  it  down  to  the  cottage  on  his  own  shoulders 
that  very  day,  manifestly  scandalising  two  nurse- 
maids and  the  under-gardener,  who  saw  him  waving 
their  mistress  a  casual  adieu,  grinning  broadly 
through  the  framework  of  the  cot  as  through  a 
horse-collar. 

§4 

It  was  some  time,  that  evening,  before  he  would 
speak  of  anything  but  Raymond.  He  insisted 
that  the  boy  had  recognised  him  in  a  moment,  in 
spite  of  over  a  year's  absence  from  his  father.  He 
gave  Theodore  a  complete  version  of  all  that  the 
child  had  said  on  his  way  to  the  cottage,  and 
demanded  generally  of  heaven  what  he  had  done 
to  have  such  a  beautiful  boy. 


238  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

"  I'm  really  beginning  to  feel  like  a  father,"  he 
concluded. 

The  brothers  were  smoking,  and  Guy  puffed  for 
a  moment  in  silence. 

"  It's  a  fine  thing  to  be  a  father,"  he  added 
suddenly. 

"  It's  a  responsibility,"  said  Theodore. 

"  That  means  earning  more  money,  I  suppose," 
said  Guy. 

"  You  can  easily  do  it,"  said  Theodore.  "  The 
job  is  waiting." 

Theodore  was  referring  to  the  affair  which  had 
brought  him  that  day  to  the  cottage.  One  of  his 
political  friends  had  a  substantial  interest  in  a  firm 
of  musical  publishers.  The  firm  required  a  young 
man  who  might  ultimately  be  admitted  as  a  junior 
partner,  and  could  in  time  be  trusted  to  act  in  the 
absence  of  his  chief.  Theodore  had  secured  the 
first  refusal  of  this  opening  for  his  brother. 

He  pointed  out  that  here,  at  his  brother's  feet, 
was  a  bridge  whereby  he  could  return  from  his 
solitude  to  activities  reasonably  lucrative  and 
sociable.  Would  he  or  would  he  not  come  back  to 
his  friends  ? 

Guy  received  the  offer  calmly,  with  no  very 
strong  feeling  for  or  against  it.  He  said  that  he 
was  rather  inclined  to  accept  it.  Perhaps  it  would 
be  better  to  listen  to  those  who  had  taken  such 
good  care  of  him  during  the  last  few  months,  to 
turn  away  from  disastrous  memories  and  start 
afresh.  In  acting  for  himself  he  had  so  con- 
spicuously failed.  He  could  not  think  of  Sabina 
without  wincing  as  at  the  memory  of  a  physical 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  239 

pain.  They  had  suffered  so  abominably ;  and, 
since  he  had  seen  her  dead,  he  had  felt  her  share 
of  the  suffering  as  never  before.  Just  before  his 
breakdown  he  had  sat  for  hours  under  the  great 
beech,  wishing  that  he  could  get  some  message  to 
her  of  tenderness  and  understanding.  He  now 
felt  for  her  in  a  way  that  transcended  anything 
they  had  said  or  done  in  the  effort  to  express  it. 

The  silence  between  the  brothers  was  broken  at 
last  by  Guy  rising  from  his  chair  and  knocking 
the  ashes  from  his  pipe.  He  put  his  hand  on  his 
brother's  shoulder. 

"  Theo,"  he  said,  "  you're  a  dear  chap.  I've 
often  wanted  to  say  it.  But  I  don't  suppose  I 
shall  ever  say  it  again." 

Theodore  was  glowing  inwardly,  but  he  merely 
smiled  and  said  :  "  I'm  glad  you  mentioned  it." 

Then  he  saw  that  his  brother  was  looking  at  him 
with  an  unusual  intensity,  and  he  felt  the  grip 
tighten  on  his  shoulder. 

"  I  want  you  to  know,'.'  said  Guy,  "that  I  really 
loved  Sabina.  I  can't  bear  to  think  how  it  ended. 
I  can  never  be  sorry  that  we  met,  though  neither 
of  us  was  really  happy.  We  never  seemed  to  say 
or  do  what  we  intended.  She  never  expressed 
herself.  Something  came  between  and  made  it 
impossible.  Yet  I  should  know  her  spirit  if  I  saw 
it  among  millions.  I  know  that,  though  she  was 
unable  to  reveal  herself  to  me,  she  was  the  simplest 
and  sweetest  being  I  shall  ever  meet.  I  shall 
always  adore  her  memory.  I  want  you  to  know 
that,  Theo.  It  seems  only  fair  to  her  that  some- 
body should  know." 


240  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

Theodore  looked  almost  with  awe  at  the  haggard, 
exalted  face  of  his  brother.  Guy  spoke  as  though, 
at  the  end  of  much  brooding,  he  must  find  some 
relief  for  his  emotion.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had 
ever  spoken  seriously  to  his  brother  without  leaving 
in  view  a  possible  retreat  into  mockery.  But 
to-night  there  was  no  mischief  in  his  eyes. 

Theodore  met  him  without  embarrassment. 

"  You  need  hardly  have  told  me,  Guy,"  he  said. 
"  She  was  the  dearest  child." 

§  5 

After  his  brother  had  gone,  Guy  sat  smoking  in 
the  garden  thinking  of  the  offer  he  had  received. 
At  the  far  end  of  the  plot,  the  woodcutter's  wife, 
who  was  now  installed  at  Brambletye  as  a  house- 
keeper, was  turning  the  hard  earth  and  breaking 
it  tirelessly  with  her  spade.  Months  ago  Guy  had 
himself  begun  to  dig  up  that  bed  under  the  eyes  of 
Sabina,  who  had  sat  on  the  garden  stool  beside 
him.  There  was  the  stool,  itself.  It  had  not  been 
moved,  but  had  stood  through  the  rains  and  under 
the  sun  which  had  warped  and  blanched  it.  At 
every  turn  he  saw  something  which  recalled  a 
memory  equally  vivid.  There  was  nothing  here 
she  had  not  touched  or  handled  ;  no  place  where 
he  could  not  see  her  suddenly  about  some  intimate 
business  of  their  daily  life.  The  tree  against  which 
he  leaned  stood  upon  the  edge  of  the  wood.  In  a 
hollow  of  the  trunk  wasps  had  nested  during  the 
previous  year.  He  had  one  night  tried,  with 
Sabina,  to  destroy  them  with  brimstone.  He  could 
see  her  face  now  in  the  light  of  the  lantern,  her  hair 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  241 

making  a  yellow  haze  where  it  was  blown  like  spray 
over  her  forehead,  her  lips  parted  with  excitement 
as  they  crouched  and  listened  to  the  angry  humming 
inside  the  hole.  They  had  been  happy  that  even- 
ing, and  had  talked  late  into  the  night,  while 
Raymond  had  kicked  and  stirred  and  sighed, 
dreaming  like  a  young  dog  in  his  sleep.  So  long 
as  he  stayed  at  Brambletye  he  would  be  met  with 
such  memories  at  every  turn. 

He  rose  and  walked  into  the  wood.  Beside  the 
great  beech  he  paused  a  moment.  Then  he  walked 
on,  and  before  reaching  Old  Place,  turned  aside 
and  took  a  less  worn  path  which  led  him  down  into 
a  valley  and  up  again  to  the  church  tower  which 
could  be  seen  from  the  higher  windows  of  Old 
Place.  Under  this  tower  Sabina  was  buried.  It 
was  a  picturesque  tower  of  grey  stone  with  a  short 
timber  spire,  warped  and  weather-tiled.  Hating 
to  see  fresh  flowers  withering  in  churchyards,  he 
had  planted  her  grave  himself  with  some  of  her 
favourite  roses  from  the  garden.  They  grew  low 
and  bushy  and  bloomed  late  into  the  season.  Here 
for  a  long  while  he  remained,  till  night  had  fallen 
and  the  white  blossoms  were  pale  in  the  darkness. 

Two  decisions  gradually  formed  in  his  mind. 
He  would  not  at  once  leave  Brambletye.  He 
wanted  time  to  measure  what  he  had  lost  and  to 
find  a  meaning  in  it.  He  could  not  treat  his  life 
with  Sabina  there  and  her  tragic  death  as  an  acci- 
dental chapter  in  his  existence  from  which  to  escape 
hastily  to  something  different.  He  felt  that  some- 
how he  owed  it  to  her  memory  to  stay  with  her 
awhile  in  that  place  and  to  begin  his  life  anew 


242  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

with  a  full  understanding  of  the  bitter  story  in 
which  he  had  borne  so  helpless  a  part. 

His  second  decision  was  more  of  the  brain  than 
of  the  heart.  He  would  accept  Theodore's  offer 
of  a  business  appointment.  Theodore  had  shown 
him  an  easy  way  to  secure  prosperity  and  an 
assured  position,  a  way  which  led  him  from  sorrow- 
ful memories  back  to  his  friends.  Above  all,  it 
would  lead  him  back  to  Marian,  the  friend  under 
whose  eyes  he  had  lately  come  back  to  the  normal 
world  after  his  illness,  whom  he  felt  to  be  part  of 
the  order  and  comfort  towards  which  he  was 
listlessly  drawn.  He  perceived  the  advantages  of 
this  course,  and  realised  the  point  of  view  of  those 
who  would  unite  in  urging  it  upon  him.  Neverthe- 
less, in  the  obscurity  of  his  heart,  where  all  that  is 
irrational  and  unconfessed  takes  refuge,  he  had 
the  same  feeling  about  it  as  he  had  about  leaving 
Brambletye.  He  had  failed,  but  ought  he  so  easily 
to  run  away  from  his  failure  ?  Ought  he  not  to 
make  a  resolute  and  wise  effort  to  succeed  where 
he  had  casually  blundered  ?  Should  he  surrender 
so  easily  his  aspiration  towards  independence  ? 
Might  he  not  remain  isolated  and  free,  not  in  the 
old  arrogant  spirit,  but  in  a  growing  conviction  of 
his  dedication  to  something  impersonal  and  ex- 
alted ?  He  had  a  gift  of  expression  which  he  had 
never  really  tested.  He  felt  within  himself,  inter- 
mittently and  darkly,  the  will  to  create  something 
which  might  endure.  Should  these  aspirations  not 
be  put  to  a  further  and  a  more  searching  test 
than  he  had  hitherto  made  of  them  ? 

These   motives   were,    for   the   moment,   latent 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  243 

rather  than  declared.  He  decided  to  take  the 
broad  and  obvious  way  which  led  him  back  to  the 
sane  and  comfortable  world. 


CHAPTER  II 

§  i 

SOME  weeks  after  his  conversation  with  Theodore 
Guy  walked  into  the  private  room  of  Hender- 
son at  the  office  of  the  Moderator. 

Henderson  beheld  a  very  different  apparition 
from  that  which  had  affronted  his  eyes  when  last 
he  had  seen  Guy.  Illness  had  imparted  to  Guy's 
face  a  fugitive  pallor  and  an  emaciation  from  which 
he  had  not  yet  recovered.  By  the  doctor's  orders 
his  hair  had  been  cut  close  and  was  not  yet  grown 
to  its  ordinary  length.  The  big  head,  which  had 
seemed  merely  exuberant,  now  conveyed  a  sugges- 
tion of  intellectual  power. 

"  There  should  be  something  considerable  in 
that  fellow's  skull,"  thought  Henderson,  as  he 
waited  for  his  former  contributor  to  explain  him- 
self. The  blue  eyes  kindled  in  the  old  way  as  they 
lit  on  Henderson,  but  shining  from  under  that  pale 
and  rather  serious  brow  their  light  appeared  almost 
celestial.  Guy  had  in  his  hand  a  bowler  hat  of 
the  latest  shape,  purchased  that  morning  on  his 
way  to  the  office.  It  had  suddenly  occurred  to 
him  that  Henderson  would  like  to  see  him  with  a 
bowler  hat. 

"  I  have  come,"  said  Guy,  "  to  offer  you  my 
services  as  musical  critic." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Henderson 

244 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  245 

'  There  is  a  great  deal  requiring  to  be  publicly 
said  about  modern  music,"  said  Guy.  "  And  the 
Moderator  is  the  review  to  say  it. 

Henderson  was  expecting  an  impertinent  peti- 
tion from  Guy  to  be  re-instated,  and  he  had 
intended  inexorably  to  refuse.  But  he  hardly 
knew  how  to  deal  with  a  serene  offer  of  service 
which  ignored  the  past. 

"  Let  me  remind  you,"  said  Henderson  at  last, 
"  that  you  were  once  a  contributor  to  this  Review." 

"  For  that,  sir,  I  owe  you  an  apology  and  some 
amends." 

Henderson  hesitated  a  moment.  Guy  spoke 
firmly  and  quietly.  He  was  neither  abject  in  his 
apology  nor  insolent  in  his  aspiration.  There  were 
at  least  two  aspiring  rivals  of  Henderson  in  weekly 
journalism  who  would  jump  at  the  chance  of  such 
a  man. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Henderson.  "  I  will  expect 
your  first  article  next  week." 

Guy  rose  tranquilly  and  shook  hands. 

§   2 

Thus  did  Guy  resume  his  place  among  the  serious 
writers  of  the  day. 

The  next  two  years  of  his  life  passed  almost 
without  event.  He  consolidated  his  position  as  a 
critic,  and  he  mastered  his  business  as  a  musical 
publisher.  During  the  whole  of  this  period  he 
remained  at  Brambletye,  whither  he  returned  al- 
most daily  to  Raymond.  The  two  were  insepar- 
able when  Guy  was  at  home. 

Guy   would   often   sit   under   the   great   beech 


246  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

watching  Raymond  as  he  peered  after  the  birds 
and  rabbits,  or  came  to  chatter  of  his  discoveries, 
delighting  in  the  boy's  clear  tones,  his  sudden  use 
of  an  unexpected  word,  his  tiny  figure  fronting  so 
many  novelties  erect  and  nimble  and  unafraid. 
At  these  times  his  life  in  town  seemed  unsubstantial. 
The  reality  was  in  these  woods,  where  he  had  carried 
his  wife  home  through  the  storm,  and  where  his 
boy,  bringing  him  nuts  or  berries  or  quaint 
descriptions  of  something  seen  for  the  first  time, 
looked  up  at  him  with  a  face  in  which  she  lived 
again.  Raymond  had  his  mother's  dark  eyes, 
and,  what  was  more  moving  to  see,  he  had  her 
quiver  of  the  lips  when  he  was  hurt.  To  Guy,  as 
he  sat  under  the  big  tree,  the  boy,  rustling  among 
the  leaves  and  bracken,  or  suddenly  intent  upon 
some  absorbing  discovery,  seemed  an  expression 
of  the  union  which  he  and  Sabina  had  never  them- 
selves in  clear  terms  achieved.  The  child,  with 
his  great  physical  beauty,  his  serious  intensity  of 
emotion,  his  bright  humour,  his  fundamental 
sweetness  and  unfailing  courage,  expressed  what 
each  of  them  would  have  shown  the  other,  had  it 
lain  within  their  ability. 

Guy  remained  profoundly  susceptible  to  the  in- 
fluence of  the  place.  Under  the  firm  hand  of  his 
housekeeper,  Brambletye  had  again  the  neatness 
which  belonged  to  it  when  Sabina  had  been  there. 
Every  object  he  saw  or  handled  started  a  memory, 
and  often  he  would  once  more  grieve  to  think  that, 
by  just  a  little  more  understanding,  they  might 
have  grown  wise  and  happy  together.  The  diffi- 
culties which  had  estranged  them  seemed  now  un- 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  247 

real,  and  he  believed  that  if  she  could  now  return, 
their  love  would  resolve  the  old  disharmonies.  He 
exaggerated  his  obtuseness  to  the  appeal  of  his 
dead  darling  ;  the  appeal  which  she  had  thwarted 
rather  than  expressed  in  their  life  together,  but 
which,  nevertheless  had  constantly  lived  in  his 
spirit's  ear. 

Gradually,  however,  present  life  intruded  upon 
his  memories,  and  he  began  to  measure  what 
remained  with  him  after  his  great  disaster. 

There  was  Raymond.  There  was  his  work  in 
London.  There  was  Marian  at  Old  Place. 

§  3 

For  Guy,  Marian  was  a  friend  to  whom  he  might 
talk  with  a  full  heart  and  a  free  tongue.  Except 
for  his  declaration  to  Theodore  he  never  mentioned 
his  wife's  name  to  anyone  but  Marian.  Marian 
found  a  sad  security  in  these  conversations.  Guy 
spoke  as  a  man  married  to  his  memories.  So  long 
as  he  spoke  of  Sabina  he  was  beyond  reach  of  her 
most  secret  wish,  a  man  dedicated  elsewhere  who 
might  be  safely  loved. 

Guy  had  come  back  to  the  normal  world  under  the 
eyes  of  Marian.  She  was  a  part  of  the  order  and 
comfort  to  which  he  seemed  bound,  after  the 
failure  of  his  marriage,  to  return.  As  an  invalid  he 
had  felt  secure  when  she  was  near,  and  this  feeling 
had  not  entirely  passed  with  his  recovery.  She 
produced  in  him  a  disposition  to  purr.  Lady 
Melsham  noted  that,  on  calling  at  Old  Place,  his 
eyes  naturally  wandered  in  search  of  her  husband's 
secretary.  She  was  not  displeased  ;  and  said  to 


248  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

some  of  her  friends,  jumping  to  far  conclusions,  that 
"  it  was  the  best  thing  that  could  happen." 

Not  long  after  Lady  Melsham  had  thus  de- 
livered herself,  Guy  fell  into  a  panic  about  Ray- 
mond. Raymond  had  begun  to  wake  up  in  the 
night  with  a  troublesome  cough,  and  other  symp- 
toms of  a  severe  cold.  Guy  had  a  fire  lit  in  the 
bedroom,  and  left  the  strictest  orders  about  keeping 
the  boy  warm  and  well  covered.  On  the  third 
night  Raymond  gravely  informed  him  that  during 
the  day  he  had  been  making  noises  like  a  chicken, 
and  proceeded  at  once  to  illustrate  his  new  accom- 
plishment. Guy  hurried  him  between  the  blankets, 
wondering  whether  babies  ever  died  of  whooping 
cough.  The  housekeeper  assured  him  that  whoop- 
ing cough  never  killed  a  child  who  was  really  strong. 

Some  days  later,  at  about  ten  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  Guy  thought  he  had  good  reason  to  dis- 
trust his  housekeeper,  as  he  held  Raymond  in  his 
arms,  struggling  for  breath,  and  almost  black  in 
the  face.  He  demanded  a  doctor  ;  and  when  the 
housekeeper  said  she  could  not  possibly  get  one 
at  that  time  of  night,  and  that  a  bath  of  mustard 
and  water  would  be  more  to  the  point,  Guy,  as 
soon  as  Raymond  seemed  a  little  better,  decided  to 
run  to  Old  Place  and  give  the  alarm. 

He  arrived  breathless,  and  a  telephone  message 
was  sent  at  once  to  the  local  man. 

On  starting  back,  he  asked  Marian  to  come  with 
him.  It  was  a  sudden  impulse,  obeyed  without 
reflection.  Marian  seized  a  scarf  and  came.  When 
they  reached  the  cottage  Raymond  was  attacked 
by  a  fresh  paroxysm,  and  Marian  took  him  up  and 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  249 

wiped  the  foam  from  his  lips.  The  fit  passed  and 
the  boy  went  almost  immediately  to  sleep  in  her 
arms. 

The  sight  of  Marian  holding  Raymond  so  securely, 
coming  after  the  fright  he  had  suffered,  disposed 
Guy  to  be  extravagantly  grateful. 

"  It  was  dear  of  you  to  come  ;  "  he  suddenly 
exclaimed. 

She  looked  up  from  the  boy,  and  said  evasively. 

"  I  think  he's  got  over  the  worst  of  it." 

Guy  felt  that  he  had  embarrassed  her  by  his 
sudden  declaration  ;  and  he,  too,  was  moved. 

The  doctor's  car  was  in  the  road,  and  Guy 
went  downstairs  to  meet  him.  The  doctor,  having 
looked  at  the  child,  was  inclined  to  resent  having 
been  called  so  urgently  for  so  little  reason.  He 
prescribed  and  left  the  cottage  without  ceremony, 
curtly  informing  Guy  that  whooping  cough  had 
often  frightened  people  unduly. 

"  The  good  leech  was  distinctly  short  with  me," 
said  Guy,  on  returning  to  the  room.  "I'm  under 
the  impression  that  we've  disgraced  ourselves." 

"  The  doctor,"  Marian  retorted,  "  was  a 
wretch." 

She  smiled  to  see  Guy  tucking  up  his  precious 
child  with  a  practised  hand. 

Again  there  came  a  shyness  between  them,  and 
Guy  felt  that  he  must  say  something. 

"  Ray  might  have  had  the  decency  to  cough 
horribly  when  the  doctor  was  here,"  he  said.  "  But 
he  never  looked  better  in  his  life." 

They  stood  a  moment  beside  the  cot.  There  did 
not  seem  to  be  need  for  further  anxiety. 


250  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

"  I  must  be  getting  back  to  Old  Place,"  said 
Marian. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Guy. 

She  turned  to  pick  up  her  scarf.  Guy  had  an 
impulse  to  retain  her,  similar  to  the  impulse  which 
had  prompted  him  to  bring  her  with  him  to  the 
cottage.  He  watched  her  twisting  the  scarf  round 
her  head. 

"  I  wish  you  hadn't  got  to  go,  Marian,"  he  said 
abruptly. 

She  turned  to  him  with  a  faint  colour. 

"  I  can't  very  well  stay,  can  I  ?  "  she  said. 
There  was  a  touch  of  resentment  in  her  voice.  His 
inveterate  blindness  to  the  fact  that  she  was  a 
woman  (not  only  a  woman  but  a  woman  who  loved 
him)  always  hurt  her,  and  more  than  usually  to- 
night. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  Guy. 

"  Think  it  over,"  said  Marian. 

Guy  saw  that  she  was  offended. 

He  put  his  hand  on  her  arm.  She  drew  it 
quickly  away  and  took  up  her  coat  from  the  bed. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Marian  ?  "  he  said. 

He  looked  hard  for  a  light  on  the  situation.  At 
last  he  broke  into  a  smile. 

"  You're  not  thinking,"  he  protested,  "  that  it 
wouldn't  be  correct  for  you  to  stay." 

"  Marian  was  re-arranging  her  scarf  and  had  a 
brooch  in  her  mouth,  which  gave  to  her  next 
remark  a  quality  oddly  incisive. 

"  The  idea  may  possibly  have  occurred  to  me," 
she  said. 

"  But  how  absurd,"  said  Guy. 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  a«i 

Marian  did  not  smile.  She  had  finished  her 
preparations  and  asked  in  her  coolest  tones,  in 
sharp  contrast  with  her  heightened  colour  and 
quick  breath,  whether  he  would  warn  the  house- 
keeper that  he  was  seeing  her  home. 

§  4 

On  the  way  to  Old  Place  Guy  had  time  to 
meditate.  It  was  not  like  Marian  to  raise  the 
question  of  propriety. 

As  he  walked  silently  beside  her  through  the 
wood,  scores  of  inconvenient  possibilities  took  shape. 
The  inconveniences  were,  in  fact,  likely  to  become 
intolerable.  He  wanted  to  be  intimate  with 
Marian,  and  she  had  made  it  difficult.  It  was  not 
only  what  people  might  infer.  It  went  deeper 
than  that.  Guy  felt  that  what  had  just  happened 
in  the  cottage,  slight  and  undeclared  as  it  was, 
had  put  a  real  barrier  between  them.  He  did  not 
feel  at  ease  walking  by  her  side  in  the  wood,  es- 
tranged from  her  by  his  thoughts  and  yet  suscept- 
ible to  her  presence.  He  watched  her  arm  as  it 
swung  to  her  step  and  the  faint  gleam  of  her 
ungloved  hand. 

There  was,  it  appeared,  even  a  point  of  view 
from  which  it  had  not  been  right  for  Marian  to 
come  that  summer  afternoon  to  the  cottage  to 
hear  him  play.  On  that  afternoon  Sabina  had 
seen  them  together,  and  had  gone  away  to  die. 
It  had  hitherto  seemed  absurd  that  Sabina  should 
not  have  walked  into  the  cottage  and  greeted  them 
both  as  though  it  were  the  most  natural  thing  in 
the  world  to  see  them  thus  together.  But  Marian, 


252  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

in    her   present    mood,    hinted    a   justification    of 
Sabina's  conduct. 

His  mind  slipped  fast  into  confusion  and  he 
impulsively  stopped. 

"  Marian,"  he  began. 

She  did  not  slacken  her  pace,  and  he  caught 
clumsily  at  her  swinging  arm. 

"Look  here,  Marian,"  he  said,  in  a  man-to-man 
sort  of  voice,  "  Why  have  you  suddenly  begun  to 
stand  off.  It's  too  ridiculous." 

"  I  haven't  the  faintest  notion  what  you're 
talking  about,"  said  Marian. 

She  already  blamed  herself  for  allowing  a 
momentary  resentment  to  look  through  the  mask 
which  for  years  she  had  successfully  worn. 

'  You  know  very  well  what  I'm  talking  about," 
said  Guy.  '  You  were  offended  by  something  I 
said  at  the  cottage." 

Marian  tried  to  walk  on,  but  could  not  bring 
herself  actually  to  leave  him.  She  turned  back, 
wondering  how  she  could  ever  have  been  so  foolish 
as  to  provoke  a  scene. 

"  Really,  Guy,"  she  said,  "  there's  nothing  to  be 
intense  about.  You  apparently  wanted  to  keep 
me  up  all  night  and  I  didn't  think  it  necessary. 
Meanwhile  you're  not  improving  matters  by  stand- 
ing still  in  the  middle  of  this  wood." 

Guy  moved  forward  in  rather  a  worse  mind  than 
before.  Marian  was  fencing  with  him,  and  the 
constraint  between  them  had  increased  rather  than 
diminished.  They  did  not  exchange  another  word 
till  they  reached  the  terrace  at  Old  Place. 

Marian  made  to  dismiss  him  at  the  door  as  briefly 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  253 

as  possible  ;  but  Guy  was  not  yet  ready  to  be 
dismissed.  He  arrested  Marian's  hand  as  she 
attempted  to  pull  the  house  bell. 

'  You're  not  going  to  leave  me  like  this,"  he  said. 

"  Don't  be  ridiculous,  Guy." 

"  If  it's  really  necessary  for  us  to  be  more 
conventional,"  said  Guy,  going  straight  to  what  he 
considered  the  point,  "  I'll  try  to  realise  it  in 
future.  It  will  be  a  great  nuisance." 

'  You're  exaggerating  the  whole  affair,"  she  said 
in  a  low  voice. 

"  I'm  exaggerating  nothing,"  said  Guy  stub- 
bornly. "  We  were  both  wretchedly  uncomfortable 
in  the  wood  just  now.  We  can't  go  on  like  that." 

"  It  won't  happen  again,"  said  Marian. 

"  It's  happening  here  and  now,"  said  Guy. 
"  You've  got  me  at  arm's  length." 

Her  answer  was  to  raise  her  hand  suddenly  and 
pull  the  bell.  It  was  an  act  of  cowardice,  but  she 
felt  that  at  all  costs  she  must  escape.  She  saw  on 
Guy's  face  the  look  of  a  friend  suddenly  confronted 
with  an  unexpected  treachery,  and  this  goaded  her 
to  an  honest  declaration. 

"  At  arm's  length,  Guy,  it  must  be.  Nothing 
else  is  possible." 

Before  Guy  could  grasp  the  significance  of  what 
she  said,  the  door  was  opened.  She  entered  the 
house,  and  the  door  closed  again  between  them, 
•without  a  word  of  good-night  on  either  side. 

§  5 

For  a  full  minute  Guy  stood  staring  blankly  at 
the  closed  door.  He  had  an  absurd  impulse  to 


254  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

ring  the  bell  in  order  that  he  might  ask  Marian  to 
repeat  her  last  remark.  It  hardly  seemed  possible 
that  he  could  have  rightly  heard  her.  Why  was 
it  necessary  for  her  henceforth  to  hold  him  at  a 
distance  ?  His  mind,  groping  here  and  there,  at 
last  touched  uncertainly  upon  the  truth. 

He  began  to  walk  back  to  the  cottage.  On 
reaching  it  he  first  looked  at  Raymond,  and  dis- 
missed the  housekeeper  to  her  rest.  Then,  for  a 
while,  he  sat  in  his  bedroom,  but  at  last,  finding 
it  almost  impossible  to  sit  still,  he  went  downstairs 
and  walked  up  and  down  the  flagged  path  of  the 
garden.  It  was  a  quiet  night,  and  he  could  hear 
every  sound  in  the  cottage,  even  to  the  crackling 
of  the  fire  in  the  room  above. 

Everything  conspired,  after  that  strange  scene 
on  the  terrace,  to  convince  him  that  Marian  loved 
him.  He  looked  back  into  the  past,  and  found 
evidence  that  reached  back  to  the  Oxford  days. 
For  a  moment  he  yielded  to  the  inveterate  coxcomb 
which  appears  in  most  men  unexpectedly  chosen. 
Then  he  dwelt  upon  the  sentence  of  exclusion 
she  had  pronounced  against  him.  He  was  too 
fond  of  her  to  be  held  perpetually  at  a  distance. 
He  had  known  that  as  he  walked  with  her  in  the 
wood.  There  was  an  alternative  which  caused  his 
step  to  fall  more  rapidly  upon  the  flags. 

He  recalled  the  scene  of  the  terrace.  Virtually 
at  the  last  she  had  confessed.  She  had  incurred 
for  truth's  sake  every  hard  name  that  can  be 
levelled  against  a  woman  who  gives  herself  away. 
She  had  done  this  in  the  fixed  belief  that  what  she 
had  said  had  finally  severed  their  friendship.  She 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  255 

would  never,  he  knew,  have  said  those  words  if 
she  had  expected  him  to  offer  courtship  over  the 
grave  of  the  wife  he  had  so  recently  lost.  Nor 
did  he  yet  desire  to  offer  courtship.  The  thing 
had  suddenly  become  not  impossible,  but,  in  the 
way  of  any  immediate  action  or  of  any  urgent 
feeling,  stood  emotions  and  memories  with  a  prior 
right.  Sabina  had  said  that,  if  he  were  unmarried, 
Marian  would  have  him.  To  walk  from  Sabina's 
grave  in  order  to  fulfil  her  prophecy  was  impossible. 

Guy  thought  much,  too,  of  Theodore's  part  in 
this.  Theodore  must  have  loved  Marian  from  the 
first.  He  must  have  known  her  secret,  which  he 
had  kept  inviolate  under  continual  provocation. 

Thus  Guy  rose  from  an  ignoble  vanity,  which 
whispered  that  Marian  loved  him,  to  a  discerning 
humility  which  convicted  him  of  having  blundered 
blindly  among  those  who  had  seen.  He  had 
imagined  that  the  loss  of  Sabina  had  revealed  to 
him  the  full  extent  of  his  folly.  Now  that  he 
saw  himself  with  the  eyes  of  those  who  had  been 
spectators  of  the  tragi-comedy  in  which  he  had 
borne  so  naive  a  part,  he  wondered  why  he  had 
not  long  ago  been  laughed  from  the  world. 


AFTER  III 


THE  firm  of  which  Guy  had  now  become  an 
important  member  was  noted  for  the  catho- 
licity of  its  endeavour.  It  was  at  present  in  that 
stage  of  its  career,  when,  having  developed  com- 
mercially beyond  its  expectations,  it  began  to  feel 
that  for  the  sake  of  further  advertisement  and  in 
order  to  elevate  the  social  status  of  its  directors,  it 
was  advisable  to  progress  also  on  the  asethetic  side. 
For  this  purpose  it  began  to  need  the  assistance  of 
musicians.  The  scheme  with  which  Guy  was 
primarily  concerned  was  the  publication  of  con- 
temporary music,  which  had  or  had  not  received 
a  public  hearing,  and  was  likely  to  increase  the 
credit  of  the  house.  The  discovery  and  selection 
of  this  music  was  his  first  pre-occupation. 

To  qualify  technically  for  success  in  this  business 
(as  he  told  himself),  Guy  began  to  study  systemati- 
cally the  art  which  he  had  hitherto  approached 
casually  and  as  an  amateur.  His  new  work  brought 
him  into  touch  with  most  of  the  practising  or 
aspiring  musicians  in  London,  and  he  had  the 
best  advice  at  his  disposal. 

He  had  as  yet  no  idea  of  resuming  the  effort 
towards  self-expression  he  had  made  at  Brambletye, 
and  during  the  first  two  years  of  service  with  his  firm 
he  published  nothing  of  his  own  composition  except 

256 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  257 

a  slender  volume  which  was  the  result  of  accident 
rather  than  design. 

Among  the  MSS.  which  came  before  him  as 
publisher's  reader  he  was  struck  one  day  by  a  piece 
of  music,  hardly  more  than  a  fragment,  composed 
for  the  piano  and  inscribed  "  Christine  Thome." 
The  music  had  little  merit,  but  there  was  a  hint  of 
mystery,  and  Guy  never  omitted  to  see  anyone 
who  achieved  anything  at  all  distinctive. 

He  sent  a  note  to  the  composer,  who  was  hi  due 
occasion  shown  into  the  room  where  Guy  sat  daily 
among  his  files. 

The  composer  proved  to  be  a  girl  who  could 
hardly  be  more  than  nineteen  years  of  age.  She 
did  not  come  sensibly  into  the  room,  but  stood 
awkwardly  at  the  door  with  her  back  to  the  panels. 

Her  hair  was  of  a  massive  gold,  and  was  pushed 
transversely  in  a  broad  sweep  from  left  to  right 
across  her  forehead.  The  mystery  which  Guy  had 
found  in  her  music  was  in  her  eyes,  which  were  at 
the  same  time  secret  and  inquiring. 

"  You  wrote  this  ?  "  said  Guy,  after  a  moment's 
inspection  of  this  unexpected  figure,  holding  up 
the  MS.  which  was  on  his  desk. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  apparition. 

There  was  a  sullen  finality  in  her  utterance 
which  somehow  made  it  difficult  for  Guy  to  pursue 
his  investigation. 

"  I  am  going  to  recommend  its  publication,"  he 
said. 

The  girl  made  no  comment  on  this  announce- 
ment, but  Guy  was  obscurely  aware  of  an  emotional 
disturbance.  The  only  visible  sign  was  a  hardly 


258  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

perceptible  flush,  and  lips  that  parted  but  failed  to 
utter  the  words  that  nearly  came. 

"  You  do  not  play  the  piano,"  said  Guy. 

"  No,"  said  the  girl. 

She  seemed,  after  a  pause,  to  realise  that  his 
remark  called  for  some  astonishment ;  for  she 
added  : 

"  How  do  you  know  that  I  do  not  play  the 
piano  ?  " 

"  You  do  not  compose  for  the  piano  like  a 
pianist." 

She  made  no  comment  on  this,  but  looked  at 
him  in  a  kind  of  heavy  wonder. 

There  was  something  familiar  in  the  look. 

"  Haven't  I  seen  you  somewhere  before  ?  "  Guy 
asked. 

"  You  have  passed  me  dozens  of  times,"  said  the 
girl.  "  I  belong  to  the  firm." 

"  What  do  you  do  for  us  ?  "  Guy  asked. 

"  I  sell  music,"  said  the  girl. 

"  You  are  fond  of  Debussy,"  he  said,  accusing 
her. 

"  Yes." 

"  There  is  a  passage  here  which  is  due  entirely 
to  him." 

He  crossed  to  the  big  piano,  which  almost  filled 
his  small  office. 

"  It  is  a  clever  passage,"  Guy  continued  ;  "  but 
it  is  derived.  You  must  forget  all  about  Debussy." 

He  played  the  passage,  and  then,  to  show  how 
easy  it  was  to  imitate  a  master,  he  began  to 
extemporise  inventions  in  the  manner  of  the  com- 
poser. 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  259 

'  You  mustn't  write  like  Debussy,"  he  ad- 
monished her,  as  he  played. 

He  came  slowly  to  a  stop,  however,  becoming 
aware  in  his  companion  of  a  dark  humiliation.  She 
stood  still,  with  her  eyes  on  the  floor,  deeply  de- 
jected by  the  ease  with  which  he  demonstrated 
that  her  music  was  a  plagiary. 

"  Where  did  you  learn  your  music  ?  "  he  asked 
abruptly. 

Guy,  after  diligent  inquisition,  ascertained  that 
her  father  played  in  an  orchestra,  that  she  had 
heard  and  read  a  great  deal  of  music,  that  she 
was  studying  the  violin  and  paying  for  her  lessons 
with  money  earned  hi  the  shop. 

He  began  to  speak  of  the  publication  of  her 
MS. 

She  asked  to  see  it ;  and,  when  he  handed  it  to 
her,  tore  it  across  with  an  abrupt  and  awkward 
gesture,  and  laid  it  on  the  table.  Her  act  was 
characterised  by  an  uncouth  energy,  the  more 
striking  as  it  broke  for  an  instant  the  almost 
oppressive  inertia  of  her  manner. 

"  Thank  you  for  my  lesson,"  she  said,  turning  to 
leave  the  room  without  looking  at  him. 

"  That's  not  the  way  to  go,"  Guy  expostulated. 

She  looked  at  him  in  black  defiance. 

"  Why  don't  you  compose  music  yourself  ?  " 
she  challenged  him.  "  You  have  shown  me  how 
easy  it  is." 

She  went  from  the  room  abruptly,  leaving  her 
MS.  on  the  table. 

This  strange  challenge  was  the  origin  of  the  only 
musical  work  published  by  Guy  during  his  service 
with  the  firm.  It  consisted  of  a  series  of  sketches 


260  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

loosely  strung  together,  in  which  the  manner  and 
sometimes  the  matter  of  the  more  prominent  com- 
posers of  the  day  was  ingeniously  imitated.  The 
small  volume  had  a  success  of  a  kind  wholly  un- 
expected by  its  author.  Written  in  a  spirit  of 
irony,  and  accepted  in  this  spirit  by  the  con- 
noisseurs, it  was  also  successful  with  a  public 
which  received  it  seriously  and,  with  cheek  on  hand, 
were  ready  to  be  moved  almost  to  tears  by  some 
of  its  drollest  passages. 

§   2 

Guy  at  last  left  Brambletye  and  found  permanent 
quarters  in  London.  It  was  late  October  when  he 
moved  away.  As  he  sat  with  Raymond  in  the 
garden,  waiting  for  the  carrier  to  take  them 
and  their  luggage  to  the  station,  the  leaves  were 
skimming  down  from  the  trees  and  eddying 
upon  the  flagstones.  He  had  shut  the  door 
of  the  cottage  and  no  smoke  came  from  the 
chimney.  Already  it  looked  lifeless  and  abandoned. 
It  reminded  him  of  the  moment  in  which  he  had 
felt  the  outer  coldness  of  death  on  Sabina's  cheek. 
He  shivered,  and  told  himself  that  he  was  morbid. 
It  was  absurd  for  him  to  cling  to  a  place  where  he 
had  loved  and  aspired  impossibly  beyond  his 
powers.  He  had  finished  with  Brambletye,  and 
was  a  publisher.  He  was  dining  again  with 
Henderson.  He  belonged  now  to  the  sensible 
world  where  money  was  made  and  marriages 
arranged.  How  could  all  this  be  reconciled  with 
a  further  sojourn  in  this  haunted  place  ? 

And  yet,  when  the  cart  came  and  he  had  climbed 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  261 

into  it  with  Raymond,  he  felt  that  the  moment 
was  decisive,  and  he  could  not  feel  that  it  was 
decisively  right.  The  empty  cottage  reproached 
him  as  though  for  an  act  of  treachery.  It  accused 
him  of  being  false  to  his  past,  and  to  himself ; 
and,  as  he  moved  away  and  rounded  the  bend  of 
the  road  which  cut  it  finally  from  view,  he  remained 
conscious  of  it  sentiently  brooding  upon  his 
departure. 

He  took  a  small  flat  in  Hampstead  where  he 
intended  to  live  with  Raymond.  His  establish- 
ment consisted  of  a  working  housekeeper  and  a 
nursemaid. 

§  3 

Since  the  night  with  Marian  at  Old  Place  he  had 
evaded  Theodore,  and  he  had  not  seen  Aunt 
Helen.  Theodore  did  not  notice  that  Guy  and 
Marian  had  ceased  to  meet ;  but  Aunt  Helen  was 
both  wiser  and  more  aware. 

She  had  long  made  up  her  mind  that  Guy  and 
Marian  should  be  married  as  soon  as  decency  per- 
mitted. She  firmly  believed  that  Marian  would 
make  of  him  a  happy  and  a  prudent  man.  She 
heard  with  satisfaction  of  his  decision  to  leave 
Brambletye,  and,  soon  after  he  had  moved  into  his 
flat,  summoned  him  curtly  to  dinner,  asking  what 
she  had  done  to  be  neglected  for  three  complete 
months  of  the  year.  Guy  said  he  would  come,  in 
the  belief  that  Marian  was  still  at  Old  Place. 

He  arrived  early  at  Fern  Cottage  and  the 
drawing-room  was  empty.  For  a  while  he  sat 
silent  beside  the  fire.  The  place  brought  Marian 
very  near.  Reason  persuaded  him  towards  Marian, 


262  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

and  behind  reason  was  an  unconscious  instinct 
which  urged  him  to  turn  from  past  memories  to 
present  experience.  Life  was  at  his  elbow,  in- 
sinuating happiness  and  presenting  him  with  a 
radiant  image  of  her  who  had  that  happiness  to 
bestow.  So  delectable  became  this  image,  seen 
through  a  mist  of  thoughts  not  without  a  tinct  of 
the  rosy  goddess,  that  the  room  in  which  he  had 
so  often  had  Marian  for  a  companion  took  on  an 
appreciable  desolation  from  her  absence. 

He  went  to  the  piano.  Marian's  music  lay  there 
in  a  disorder  which  almost  suggested  her  presence. 
Schumann  fell  open  at  his  great  Toccata.  There, 
indeed,  was  the  positive  note — the  throb  of  that 
life  renewed  in  him  which  had  already  turned  his 
thoughts  towards  her.  He  sat  down  to  the  piano 
and  shattered  the  silence  with  the  opening  phrase 
in  which  the  outward  splendour  of  life  is  abruptly 
declared  as  a  prelude  to  the  obstinate  rhythm  of 
its  deeper  purpose. 

§4 

Marian  was  in  her  room.  The  crash  of  the  music 
below  was  her  first  warning  that  Guy  was  in  the 
house.  Aunt  Helen  had  been  careful  not  to 
enlighten  her. 

For  a  moment  she  thought  of  escape.  Then 
she  reflected  that  the  time  for  meeting  him  must 
come  sooner  or  later.  At  the  worst,  it  was  simply 
a  question  of  maintaining  the  distance  she  had  put 
between  them.  Clearly  she  must  go  to  him  ;  and 
she  must  go  before  Aunt  Helen  was  there  to  make 
things  worse. 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  368 

She  went  downstairs,  assuming  an  outward  calm, 
but  aware  of  a  throbbing  confusion  within.  Her 
decision  had  been  briefly  taken,  and,  when  she 
entered  the  drawing-room,  Guy  was  still  in  the 
middle  of  the  toccata.  He  turned  and  saw  her. 
Immediately  he  stopped  playing,  and,  upon  an 
eager  impulse,  went  to  her.  Her  coming  gave 
reality  to  the  thoughts  which  during  the  last  weeks 
had  prompted  him  continually  to  a  closer  fellow- 
ship. There  was  assuredly  more  than  a  tinct  of 
the  rosy  goddess  about  her  as  she  stood  defensively 
in  a  flushed  recoil.  He  found  himself  talking  to 
her  almost  at  random. 

"  Not  at  arm's  length,  Marian,"  he  pleaded.  "I 
never  realised  that  I  cared  so  much.  I  want  you  al- 
ways, Marian.  Will  you,  Marian,  in  a  little  while, 
marry  me  ?  " 

Marian  could  not  immediately  realise  that  she 
was  being  wooed.  She  told  herself  almost  in- 
credulously that  Guy  was  asking  her  to  be  his 
wife,  and  saying  in  effect  that  he  loved  her. 

"  Marian,"  he  said,  "  I  am  asking  you  again. 
Will  you  be  my  wife  ?  " 

"  Do  you  really  care  enough  for  that  ?  " 

For  answer  he  took  her  by  the  hands  and  drew 
her  close.  She  yielded  doubtfully,  until  he  had 
kissed  her  ;  but,  for  her,  the  kiss  was  decisive. 
She  knew  nothing  of  the  pranks  the  blood  of  a 
young  man  facing  towards  life  can  play  when  the 
disposition  is  apt.  She  was  assured  by  his  kiss 
that  he  loved  her  as  much  as  she  desired  ;  and,  to 
his  urgent  question,  repeated  again  as  he  held  her 
she  said,  "  Yes  "  without  misgiving. 


CHAPTER  IV 

§  i 

IN  the  spring  of  the  following  year,  Guy  and 
Marian  were  married  at  Christ  Church,  Hamp- 
stead. 

Perversely  enough,  the  memories  he  successfully 
held  at  bay  during  the  period  of  his  betrothal 
victoriously  possessed  him  during  the  wedding 
ceremony.  As  he  sat  with  Theodore  waiting  for 
his  bride,  and  later,  as  they  stood  together  facing 
the  altar,  he  must  needs  remember  that  other  rite 
performed  in  a  registrar's  office  at  Abingdon.  At 
Abingdon  it  had  been  a  simpler  and  speedier  affair 
altogether.  He  had  stood  before  a  table,  and  the 
girl  beside  him  had  worn  a  dark  blue  coat  and 
skirt.  Even  as  he  listened  to  the  officiating  clergy- 
man, who  was  making  such  terribly  intimate  and 
inexorable  speeches  out  of  the  prayer  book,  and 
though  he  was  acutely  aware  of  Marian  standing 
beside  him,  splendid  in  white  satin,  he  could  see 
the  three  parallel  rows  of  black  braid  upon  the 
dark  blue  coat  and  the  small  square  pleats  in  the 
dark  blue  skirt.  The  moment  surprised  him  with 
a  double  disloyalty,  equally  to  the  dead  and  to  the 
living. 

The  moment  passed,  and  soon  he  was  walking 
to  the  church  door  with  Mendelssohn  brightly 

2«4 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  265 

insisting  that  this  was  the  most  obviously  cheerful 
of  all  occasions  in  life. 

The  shadow  of  the  dead  woman  which  had  fallen 
between  them  at  the  altar  was  with  him  again  that 
night,  and  against  his  will  he  loved  his  bride  as  a 
changeling.  Dismayed,  he  threw  a  veil  over  the 
cruel  pranks  of  memory  as  Marian  lay  in  his  arms  ; 
and  over  her,  as  she  slept,  he  prayed  that  he  might 
keep  himself  true  in  blood  and  spirit  to  the  living 
woman  and  that  even  his  memories  might  do  her 
no  further  wrong. 

And  so  began  the  paradox  of  their  married  love. 
Invocations  to  a  relationship  indissoluble  and 
eternal  were  impossible  without  raising  a  dead 
rival  to  the  living  wife.  He  shunned  an  ecstacy 
which  found  him  haunted  by  a  pale  intruder. 
Instinctively  he  kept  his  love  for  Marian  away 
from  the  passionate  levels  where  personal  identity 
is  lost  and  a  perfect  union  achieved.  Marian,  on 
the  other  hand,  prayed  for  the  perfect  union  which 
alone  could  justify  the  triumph  of  her  awakened 
senses.  But  she  was  too  wise  to  ask  for  what  was 
impossible.  For  the  most  part  she  practised 
philosophy  and  was  content,  though  there  were 
times  when  she  felt  the  shame  of  a  chaste  woman, 
who,  though  her  blood  is  sweet  and  her  spirit  pure, 
passionately  surrenders  herself  in  the  knowledge 
that  she  is  more  loving  than  beloved. 

They  spent  their  honeymoon  in  a  lonely  house 
upon  the  south  coast  of  England.  The  house  was 
built  upon  a  spit  of  shingle  that  lay  between  the 
sea  and  the  waters  of  an  estuary,  which  ran  under 
their  windows  to  form  a  circular  haven  surrounded 


266  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

by  marsh  and  cliff.  There  was  no  practicable 
approach  to  the  house  by  road.  Visitors  crossed 
to  it  from  the  East  by  boat  or  scrambled  for  miles 
over  heather  cliffs  and  sandy  dunes  from  the  West. 
The  house  belonged  to  fishermen,  who  were  among 
the  last  of  their  craft  in  these  ancient  waters.  Guy 
and  Marian  were  deliciously  remote  and  idle  ;  and 
there,  though  they  walked  the  earth  only,  it  was 
possible  to  walk  enchanted.  In  the  mornings  there 
were  beaches  of  blown  sand  under  the  dunes,  from 
which  they  could  bathe  and  swim  in  a  solitude 
made  by  sun  and  sea,  and  rimmed  with  little  green 
hills  or  tiny  purple  alps  of  grass  and  heather.  In 
the  long  warm  afternoons  there  was  the  small  boat 
with  its  red  sail,  in  which  they  could  pass  from  the 
haven  to  the  open  sea  over  a  miniature  bar  of 
foam  or  fret  a  passage  inland  to  a  quiet  English 
town,  busy  with  river-craft.  In  the  evening  there 
were  walks  upon  the  cliff,  or  a  new  book  from 
London  ;  and  usually  there  was  a  last  look  from 
the  lonely  dark  edge  of  the  shingle  spit  to  where 
distant  lights  guided  the  ships  forth  and  back  on 
the  remoter  waters. 

Sometimes  when  Marian  was  tired,  or  engrossed 
by  a  book,  Guy  would  slip  from  the  house  alone, 
and  stand  upon  the  extreme  point  of  the  spit  where 
the  confusing  currents  met.  He  liked  it  best 
when  the  night  was  wild  and  the  wind  rustled  drily 
over  the  sand,  driving  it  and  sifting  it  and  combing 
out  the  coarse  rushes.  He  would  sit  in  a  sheltered 
hollow,  at  one  with  a  scene  in  which  he  saw  nothing 
but  the  dark  shapes  of  hills  which  grew  darker, 
seas  from  which  the  light  was  dying,  a  stray  gleam 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  267 

of  water  from  the  marshes,  or  the  sky  filling 
with  stars.  Invariably  he  faced  towards  the  sea, 
from  which  one  night  Marian  had  turned  with  a 
shudder. 

"  A  woman  wailing  for  her  demon  lover,"  she  had 
quoted.  "  This  would  be  just  the  place." 

On  one  occasion,  when,  for  some  time,  Guy  had 
remained  alone  in  this  place,  silent  and  reflective 
but  unconscious  of  any  definite  thought,  he  sud- 
denly felt  as  though  something  were  intrusively 
demanding  an  expression  of  which  he  was  only 
half  aware.  He  caught  himself  saying  : 

"  Here  she  might  have  lived.  But  she  hated  the 
trees." 

He  was  sifting  sand  through  his  fingers  at  the 
time,  and  almost  in  terror  he  saw  himself  at  a  great 
distance,  a  tiny  figure  but  distinct,  sitting  upon 
another  beach,  deserted  and  sun-lit,  playing  with 
the  sand  in  just  that  way,  and  listening  idly  to 
someone  who  told  him  that  she  loved  the  sea. 

He  rose  with  a  shiver,  and,  as  he  walked  to  the 
house,  he  turned  back  once  or  twice  feeling  that  he 
was  not  unaccompanied. 


§  2 

Guy  and  Marian,  after  spending  nearly  six  weeks 
by  the  sea,  moved  thence  straight  into  their  new 
house  at  Ealing.  They  had  chosen  the  house  for 
space  and  comfort.  It  had  an  installation  for 
central  heating,  double  windows,  and  lofty  rooms. 

Every  morning  at  half-past  eight,  Guy  issued 
from  the  double  doors  of  this  pleasant  house  and 


268  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

caught  his  train  to  the  city.  He  wore  a  well-cut 
suit  of  a  neat  pattern,  a  shapely  bowler  hat  and  a 
dark  overcoat.  He  carried  good  gloves,  an  um- 
brella faultlessly  uprolled,  and  the  Daily  Telegraph. 
He  had  eaten  an  excellent  breakfast,  and  had  taken 
off  the  first  edge  of  the  day  in  agreeable  interludes 
with  Marian  behind  the  coffee,  with  letters  full  of 
news,  and  with  passages  more  or  less  facetious  with 
Raymond,  which  began  in  the  bath-room  and  ended 
at  the  garden  gate.  The  journey  up  to  town  filled 
him  with  a  pleasant  sense  of  the  marvellous  solidity 
of  his  new  position.  He  sat  in  his  well-appointed 
first-class  smoking  carriage  among  men  even  more 
solid  than  himself,  hearing  comments  on  the  money- 
market  or  the  stock-exchange  ;  and  during  these 
early  days  it  was  piquant.  It  was  as  though 
fundamentally  he  knew  it  for  an  enormous  joke, 
and  it  was  partly  this  that  caused  him  to  exag- 
gerate the  comfortable  philistinism  of  his  new  life. 
Theodore  was  a  frequent  visitor  at  the  Ealing 
house.  Sensitive  to  anything  which  touched 
Marian  at  all  closely,  he  was  not  wholly  at  ease. 
He  could  not  detect  anything  concretely  wrong, 
except  that  Guy  was  almost  too  obtrusive  in  his 
declarations  of  felicity.  The  root  of  Theodore's 
uneasiness  lay  in  a  fear  that  Guy  did  not  sufficiently 
value  Marian.  He  was  jealous  of  the  enormous 
trust  she  had  placed  in  his  brother.  She  had  pre- 
ferred to  risk  disaster  with  Guy  than  to  shelter  with 
him.  And  even  now,  as  he  saw  them  together, 
outwardly  happy,  he  felt  that  they  were  somehow 
insecure.  He  could  even  see — or  was  it  his  fancy  ? — 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  269 

the  shadow  of  a  question  in  Marian's  eyes,  as  un- 
observed she  quietly  watched  Guy  with  his  friends. 

§  3 

Guy  returned  from  his  honeymoon  to  enjoy  the 
success  of  his  musical  parodies.  The  book  had 
appeared  as  he  was  on  the  point  of  leaving  for  the 
south  coast.  His  enjoyment  of  its  success  was 
a  complicated  emotion.  He  was  genuinely  pleased 
that  the  musicians  applauded  him  for  the  right 
reason  (even  some  of  the  victims  wrote  him  cordial 
letters).  He  was  even  more  pleased  that  he  should 
have  demonstrated  a  favourite  thesis  with  him, 
that  imitation  is  the  best  and  possibly  the  only 
satisfactory  method  of  criticism.  With  the  general 
public  he  did  not  know  whether  to  be  pleased  or 
angry.  As  a  cynical  man  of  business  (the  character 
to  which  he  chose  to  aspire)  he  was  delighted,  more 
particularly  as  his  -firm  treated  him  with  an  im- 
mense respect  as  one  who  (though  an  artist)  had 
actually  produced  something  which  for  some  reason 
or  other  the  public  wished  to  buy.  Nevertheless, 
on  more  than  one  occasion,  he  was  seen  to  behave 
almost  rudely  to  people  who  congratulated  him  for 
the  wrong  reason,  and  to  one  fair  patron  of  the 
arts,  who  had  in  her  train  most  of  the  celebrated 
musicians  of  Europe,  he  replied  without  respect, 
when  she  wrote  him  a  long  letter  upon  the  delicacy 
and  depth  of  feeling  he  had  shown  in  an  amusing 
imitation  of  Puccini  at  his  worst. 

It  was  some  time  before  he  spoke  again  to  the 
girl  whose  challenge  had  prompted  him  to  this 
enterprise.  They  frequently  encountered  within 


270  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

the  precincts  of  the  firm,  but  passed  casually  about 
their  business.  Guy  once  or  twice  made  a  move- 
ment towards  her,  but  felt  strangely  embarrassed 
by  a  kind  of  still  expectation  in  her  attitude.  Her 
torn  MS.  remained  in  his  drawer. 

Not  long  after  his  return,  however,  chance,  as 
though  pertinaciously  bent  upon  ripening  the 
acquaintance,  again  brought  them  together.  Guy 
received  a  letter  from  the  Principal  of  the  School  of 
Music  which  she  was  attending,  inquiring  whether 
it  would  not  be  possible  to  arrange  in  the 
near  future  for  a  preliminary  public  appearance 
of  Miss  Christine  Thorne,  a  promising  pupil 
who  had  lately  made  astonishing  progress  with  the 
violin. 

Guy  mentioned  the  matter  to  the  concert  agent 
of  the  firm,  who  asked  him  to  hear  Miss  Thorne 
and  report  upon  her  capabilities. 

In  due  course  she  came  to  his  room  by  appoint- 
ment. 

She  showed  no  misgiving,  but  her  silence  seemed 
more  than  ever  overcharged. 

'  You  see,  I  took  your  advice,"  said  Guy,  indi- 
cating his  parodies  that  lay  on  a  table  between 
them. 

"  I  ought  to  congratulate  you,"  said  Christine. 

It  was  impossible  to  tell  whether  this  was  irony 
or  common  form. 

She  took  her  violin  from  the  case. 

"  You  want  me  to  play  ?  "  she  abruptly  inquired. 

"  We  want,  if  possible,  to  arrange  for  you  to 
play  at  one  of  our  recitals." 

With  an  awkward  gesture,  as  though  suddenly 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  271 

prompted  to  release  her  suspense,  she  raised  the 
violin  and  began  to  play. 

Guy  found  himself,  not  without  amazement, 
listening  to  the  Chaconne  of  Sebastian  Bach. 

It  seemed  as  though  she  had  instinctively  chosen 
something  which  might  illustrate  her  musicianship 
without  giving  herself  away.  She  was  sullenly 
concentrated  upon  her  music,  as  though  it  were 
natural  for  her  to  be  absorbed  into  the  abstract 
and  the  abstruse.  Thus,  thought  Guy,  might  an 
oracle  pronounce  its  riddles,  understanding  them 
but  allowing  none  of  its  hearers  to  spell  their 
human  significance. 


CHAPTER  V. 

§  i 

ON  a  fine  Spring  Sunday  morning,  in  the  third 
year  after  they  had  settled  down  in  the  Ealing 
house,  Marian  awoke  at  an  early  hour  in  one  of  the 
pleasant  bedrooms  at  Old  Place.  She  had  arrived 
with  Guy  on  the  previous  afternoon  in  response  to 
one  of  her  frequent  invitations  from  Lady  Melsham. 

The  house  reminded  her  of  much  that  had 
happened  before  her  marriage,  and,  last  night,  they 
had  talked  at  length  of  Theodore's  rapid  progress 
in  the  House  of  Commons  (he  had  now  been  a 
member  for  twelve  months)  and  of  his  approaching 
marriage  with  the  daughter  of  an  eminent  politician. 

Theodore  and  his  lady  were  also  staying  at  Old 
Place  for  the  week-end. 

It  was  accordingly  natural  that  Marian,  as  she  lay 
listening  to  the  birds  under  her  window,  should 
review  with  a  steady  eye  the  uneventful  years  of 
her  married  life. 

Guy  had  attended  constantly  to  his  business, 
and  he  was  now  prosperous.  Already  he  was 
thinking  of  a  flat  in  town,  where  they  might  enter- 
tain their  literary  and  musical  friends. 

And  yet,  as  the  sweet  morning  air  came  into  her 
room,  and  the  level  sun-light  slipped  through  her 
curtains  and  lay  like  a  sword  between  floor  and 
ceiling,  Marian  realised  that  she  was  far  from 

272 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  278 

satisfied.  It  was  worse  than  that.  She  was  afraid. 
The  mood  was  on  her.  It  came  upon  her  only 
occasionally.  But  it  had  to  be  reckoned  with. 

It  was  not  that  she  and  Guy  were,  it  seemed,  to 
have  no  children  ;  though  that  fact  seemed  some- 
how, when  the  mood  was  on,  maliciously  ap- 
propriate. Still  less  was  it  that  she  feared  to  lose 
Guy  in  the  vulgar  way.  She  trusted  absolutely  in 
his  affection  and  faith.  Her  mood  was  the  result 
of  an  impression  that  slowly  but  inevitably  Guy 
was  withdrawing  from  her  for  causes  unfathomed. 
He  had  outlived  his  forced  enthusiasm  for  a  life 
devoted  to  business,  and  she  divived  that  for  some 
impenetrable  reason  she  was  disastrously  impli- 
cated in  this  reaction  from  the  Ealing  experiment. 
It  was  as  though  he  regarded  her  as  part  of  that 
huge  joke  of  being  a  householder  which  had  ceased 
to  amuse  him  and  was  now  beginning  to  conflict 
with  aspirations  from  which  she  was  cruelly  and 
unjustifiably  excluded. 

Nothing  decisive  had  yet  happened  to  reveal  the 
rift.  Guy  himself  knew  less  than  the  woman  who 
so  jealously  watched  him  to  what  extent  she  was 
excluded.  For  the  moment  he  was  conscious 
merely  of  a  vague  discomfort,  a  tendency  to  look 
for  distraction  beyond  the  Ealing  circle.  For 
escape  he  had  turned  naturally  to  his  music  ;  but, 
in  his  present  state  of  divided  allegiance,  he  could 
make  no  real  progress  in  that  direction.  He 
started  things  and  left  them  unfinished.  He  se- 
cluded himself  for  a  few  days,  or  even  weeks,  but 
invariably  he  returned  dispirited  to  his  ordinary 
business. 


274  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

There  was  a  sense  in  which  Marian  felt,  now  as 
when  first  they  were  married,  that  she  had  never 
really  won  him.  She  feared  the  solitude  to  which 
he  sometimes  retired.  She  feared  his  silence.  She 
feared  the  strange  unspoken  intimacy  in  which  he 
walked  with  Raymond.  And  the  least  hint  of  his 
withdrawal  from  the  common  life,  however  ten- 
tative, brought  upon  her  the  mood  she  feared. 

These  were  straws,  but,  when  the  mood  was  on 
her,  such  straws  blew  thick  upon  the  wind.  During 
ordinary  calm  days  they  lay  neglected  in  a  corner 
of  her  mind. 

Some  of  the  straws  had  blown  from  Soho,  where 
Guy  had  begun  to  frequent  late  parties  in  Bohemian 
flats.  Marian  did  not  disapprove  of  this  Bohemian 
life  or  desire  to  keep  Guy  perpetually  at  home. 
The  root  of  her  uneasiness  was  strangely  subtle. 
It  lay  rather  in  the  knowledge  that  he  did  not 
greatly  care  for  these  distractions  than  in  any  fear 
that  he  was  likely  to  be  absorbed  by  them.  She 
divined  that  he  went  to  these  parties,  not  because 
he  really  liked  them,  but  because  they  ministered 
to  the  streak  of  wildness  in  him  which  she  could 
neither  touch  nor  tame.  They  were  a  kind  of 
spiritual  fidgeting. 

§   2 

A  slight  movement  caused  her  to  turn  her  eye 
from  the  window.  Guy  was  awake.  He  stretched 
his  hand  across  to  her  and  she  gave  him  her  own. 

"  Slept  well  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Fairly,"  said  Marian. 

"  Suppose  we  let  in  the  sun,"  said  Guy. 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  275 

He  jumped  out  of  bed  and  drew  the  cur- 
tains, putting  his  head  far  out  of  the  window. 
After  a  few  moments  he  came  and  sat  beside 
her. 

"  It's  glorious  out  there,"  he  said.  "  There's 
frost  on  the  apple  bark  and  drops  shining  in  the 
blossom.  There  are  swallows  just  under  the  roof. 
One  of  them  flew  out  and  made  a  draught  down  my 
back  with  his  wings.  The  fields  are  still  white  and 
you  could  eat  the  fresh  air.  I'll  tell  you  what, 
Marian,  we  must  have  a  country  estate  at  once. 
This  is  the  stuff  to  wake  you  up  every  morning. 
Come  and  have  a  look." 

He  pulled  at  her  hands  and  lifted  her  from  the 
pillow,  then  reached  for  her  slippers  and  gown. 
Together  they  looked  out  over  the  country.  They 
could  see  Crowborough  beacon  and  the  dark  line 
of  Ashdown  Forest.  "  We  must  give  them  the  slip 
this  morning,"  said  Guy.  "  I  vote  we  go  right  up 
to  the  forest.  There  is  a  bit  of  it  not  much  more 
than  four  miles  away." 

Marian  smiled  and  pressed  his  hand.  Why  was 
she  so  full  of  discontent  ?  He  was  always 
trying  to  please  her,  and  he  would  do  anything  to 
avoid  giving  her  pain.  He  had  not  lost  any  of  his 
old  delight  in  her  company. 

"  He  would  surrender  everything  to  me,"  she 
thought  ;  "  everything  except  himself,"  she  added 
in  a  bitter  afterthought. 

On  their  way  out  to  the  forest  they  passed 
Brambletye. 

Guy  had  not  seen  the  cottage  since  he  left  it 
with  Raymond  on  the  eve  of  his  settling  down  in 


276  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

London.  Since  then  it  had  remained  empty. 
The  windows  were  cluttered  with  dust.  The 
creepers  had  grown  disorderly  about  it.  The 
garden  was  a  wilderness.  Overhung  with  its  lofty 
trees,  it  had  a  brooding,  haunted  look.  Marian 
shivered  as  she  passed.  Guy  once  or  twice  turned 
to  look  at  it  with  a  curious  wide  glance,  searching, 
almost  expectant.  He  did  not  tell  Marian  a  secret 
— one  of  the  small  secrets  he  had  lately  begun  to 
have.  Some  twelve  months  ago  he  had  bought 
Brambletye  for  a  small  sum,  obeying  a  sudden 
impulse  on  seeing  that  it  was  being  offered  for  sale 
as  an  untidy  and  unnecessary  corner  of  the  Melsham 
estate. 

On  the  way  home  to  lunch,  Guy  and  Marian 
again  took  the  familiar  woodland  path  through  the 
beech  glade.  Under  the  great  beech  they  met 
Theodore  and  the  lady  to  whom  he  was  engaged. 
She  was  admiring  the  tree  as  they  came  up.  There 
was  a  swift  interplay  of  glances  among  the  other 
three,  in  whose  minds  the  past  here  sprang  to  life 
almost  of  necessity.  Here  Theodore  had  seen 
Marian  sitting  with  his  brother  on  the  afternoon  of 
Sabina's  last  foretelling  of  what  had  since  occurred. 
Here  Theodore  and  Marian  had  failed  to  become 
engaged.  Here  Sabina  had  run  to  her  death.  And 
now  Guy  saw  his  brother  standing  there  with  the 
stately  girl  who  was  to  be  his  wife.  It  was  an 
excellent  marriage,  a  union  of  young  intelligence 
and  fair  prospects  with  wealth  and  a  place  always 
high  in  the  court  circular.  The  girl  was  beautiful 
in  her  cold  way.  She  had  an  assured  manner 
which  marked  her  out  already  for  a  successful 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  277 

political  hostess.  Yet,  as  she  admired  the  tree, 
with  epithets  which  fitted  as  aptly  as  the  neat  fur 
toque  upon  her  head,  Theodore  wished  that  Guy 
and  Marian  had  not  come  to  remind  him  that  this 
was  historic  ground. 

§  3 

Guy  and  Theodore  came  unexpectedly  together 
again  in  the  late  afternoon.  Both  had  started  for 
a  solitary  walk  before  dinner.  Drawn  by  a  common 
lure,  they  met  under  the  chimneys  of  Brambletye. 
Theodore  arrived  some  time  before  his  brother. 
Brooding  on  the  fading  story  of  the  place,  he  had 
an  odd  feeling  that  in  the  old  days,  when  the 
chimneys  of  Brambletye  were  warm,  Guy  had 
been  more  enviable  (in  the  way  that  Theodore  was 
prone  to  envy  him)  than  he  was  at  present.  He 
saw  again  certain  scenes  in  which  his  brother  had 
figured.  He  was  leading  his  wife  back  to  her  home 
on  the  dark  night  of  her  flight  from  school,  or  sitting 
alone  and  dishevelled  among  his  inky  MSS.  with 
illusion  in  his  eyes. 

Darkness  was  falling.  The  sun  had  left  a  red 
smudge  in  the  West  which  lay  behind  the  trunks 
of  a  group  of  pines  like  a  dying  fire  behind  bars. 
Mists  were  gathering  about  Brambletye  and  the 
chill  of  nightfall.  Theodore  shivered  as  the  last 
gleam  of  light  vanished  from  one  of  the  cottage 
windows  like  a  lamp  suddenly  put  out.  A  moment 
later  he  heard  footsteps  in  the  wood  and  saw  his 
brother.  Guy  came  to  the  gate  and  stood  silently 
beside  him.  Together  they  contemplated  the  dark 
outline  of  the  cottage. 


278  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

Theodore  could  not  control  a  desire  to  look  into 
his  brother's  mind. 

"  Tell  me  Guy,"  he  said  suddenly.  "  What 
brought  you  to  Brambletye  this  evening  ?  " 

Guy  looked  at  his  brother. 

"Aren't  we,"  he  said,  "rather  like  the  naughty 
sisters  in  the  play  ?  Where  did  you  lose  this  bodkin, 
sister?  And  where  did  you  find  this  bodkin,  sister, 
0  sister  all  the  time  ?  We  are  both  at  the  World's 
End,  if  it  comes  to  that  ?  " 

"  Sometimes,"  he  added,  contemplating  the 
cottage,  "  I  feel  that  I  am  still  living  between  the 
walls  of  that  cottage,  and  I  find  my  present  life 
incredible.  It  seems  too  good  to  be  true.  Perhaps 
that  is  really  what's  wrong  with  it.  Perhaps  it 
isn't  true." 

They  walked  back  to  Old  Place.  On  the  terrace, 
Theodore,  who  had  been  reflecting  on  the  way, 
suddenly  gripped  his  brother's  arm  and  brought 
him  to  a  standstill. 

"  If  you  fail  Marian  in  the  least  degree  I  will 
never  forgive  you." 

"  I  should  never  forgive  myself,"  said  Guy. 


CHAPTER  VI 

§  i 

GUY  and  Marian  prolonged  their  week-end  at 
Old  Place  until  the  following  Thursday,  and 
Guy  kept  himself  informed  of  his  business  affairs 
by  telephone.  On  Wednesday  his  clerk  rang  him 
up  and  said  there  were  a  number  of  urgent  but  small 
matters  requiring  consideration.  They  could  be 
dealt  with  in  half  an  hour.  Guy  told  him  to  send 
Miss  Thorne  down  to  Old  Place  by  the  next  train 
with  the  necessary  papers,  and  in  the  afternoon 
he  waited  for  her  in  the  library. 

Christine  had  lately  become  the  personal  assis- 
lant  of  Guy,  but,  though  they  had  been  daily  in 
close  contact  for  several  months,  the  acquaintance 
remained  virtually  where  it  had  stood  at  their 
first  interview. 

Already  she  had  appeared  publicly  with  some 
success,  and  on  the  second  occasion  she  had  shared 
the  programme  with  a  pianist  of  distinction.  It 
was  felt  thereafter  incongruous  that  she  should 
remain  in  the  shop,  and  Guy  had  asked  that  she 
should  be  transferred  to  his  department. 

As  she  came  forward  into  the  library  at  Old  Place, 
she  stood  a  moment  in  the  afternoon  sun  that  lay 
across  the  floor.  The  rays  which  enlivened  the 
sullen  gold  of  her  hair  only  emphasised  the  stillness 

270 


280  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

of  her  face.     It  seemed  implacably  shut  upon  a 
mystery. 

§   2 

He  opened  the  despatch  case  and  dealt  with  the 
business  it  contained,  asking  Christine  from  time 
to  time  for  the  necessary  particulars. 

Imperceptibly  during  the  last  few  months  he 
had  begun  to  be  curious  about  her.  He  found 
himself  putting  side  by  side  the  few  revealing  things 
she  had  said,  piecing  together  her  preferences, 
feeling  for  the  soul  behind  her  seclusive  eyes.  But 
she  remained  mysterious.  He  knew  only  that  she 
had  no  mother,  that  her  father  was  a  poor  musician 
who  made  very  little  money,  that  she  had  a  passion 
for  books  as  well  as  for  music,  and  instinctively 
liked  the  right  ones. 

"  I'll  ring  for  tea,"  said  Guy,  when  they  had 
finished.  "  There  isn't  a  train  till  half-past  five." 

"  Is  the  little  boy  here  ?  "  she  asked  suddenly. 

"  Raymond  is  in  London." 

"  I  should  like  to  have  seen  him,"  said  Christine 

They  turned  at  a  sound.  Marian  stood  on  the 
threshold  looking  towards  them.  Christine  rose 
from  her  chair. 

"  I'm  not  interrupting  ?  "  Marian  asked. 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  said  Guy  "  We've  finished 
our  business." 

Marian  held  out  her  hand  to  Christine,  who  took 
it  with  a  perceptible  hesitation. 

Marian  talked  to  put  Christine  at  her  ease  ;  but 
Christine  answered  only  with  the  briefest  mono- 
syllables. Her  reticence  was  particularly  marked 
when  Marian  expressed  a  hope  that  an  invitation 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  281 

to  Ealing  would  be  accepted.  Christine  said  that 
Ealing,  from  where  she  lived,  was  difficult  to  reach. 
In  a  few  moments  she  rose  to  go.  They  had  left 
barely  sufficient  time  to  catch  the  train,  and  at  the 
door  Guy,  looking  at  his  watch,  said  that,  walking 
as  she  had  come,  by  the  road,  she  would  probably 
miss  it.  He  proposed  to  show  her  the  short  way 
through  the  wood  to  Brambletye. 

§  3 

They  reached  Brambletye  with  nearly  twenty 
minutes  to  spare.  Christine,  flushed  with  the 
exercise  and  breathing  fast,  paused  with  her  hand 
on  the  cottage  gate  and  looked  back  a  moment 
at  the  deserted  dwelling.  Guy,  already  in  the  road, 
came  back  to  the  gate. 

"  An  empty  cottage,"  she  remarked.  "  It  looks 
as  though  it  were  haunted." 

"  I  lived  there  for  nearly  two  years,"  said  Guy. 

"  By  yourself?  "  she  asked. 

"  Raymond  was  born  there,"  said  Guy. 

"  You  left  this  place  to  go  to  Ealing  ?  " 

Her  question  sounded  like  an  accusation.  She 
was  looking  at  the  cottage.  The  sun  slanted  down 
from  the  edge  of  a  brilliant  cloud  and  blended  her 
with  it.  For  the  moment  she  was  radiant,  and  the 
cottage  itself,  with  its  dishevelled  creepers  putting 
forth  new  leaves  to  the  spring,  suddenly  lived 
again. 

"  You  like  the  country?  "  Guy  asked,  breaking 
the  silence  into  which  they  had  fallen. 

"  Here,"  said  Christine,  "  it  would  be  possible 
to  escape." 


282  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

She  looked  long  at  the  cottage  before  turning 
away. 

Guy  accompanied  her  to  the  station,  and  stayed 
to  bid  her  good-bye.  He  reminded  her  of  Marian's 
renewed  invitation  to  Ealing.  Her  face  clouded. 

"  I  don't  belong  there,"  she  said  abruptly. 

Guy,  on  his  way  home,  paused  to  look  at  Bram- 
bletye.  Christine  had  been  strangely  attracted  by 
the  cottage.  He  remembered  her  as  she  had  stood 
at  the  gate,  lit  by  the  sun,  and  recalled  her  answer 
to  his  renewed  wish  that  she  should  come  to 
Ealing.  "  I  do  not  belong  there,"  she  had  said. 
There,  at  last,  was  some  of  her  mystery  explained. 
She  remained  outside  ;  and  she  had  said  of 
Brambletye  that  there  it  would  be  possible  to 
"  escape." 

He  turned  from  the  gate  and  continued  his  walk 
along  the  road.  Soon  he  came  to  a  stile,  and 
descended  thence  to  a  little  valley  over  fields, 
fallow  or  green  with  the  swift  grass  of  spring.  On 
the  other  side  of  the  valley  stood  the  church  tower 
under  which  Sabina  lay.  He  climbed  the  opposite 
hill,  his  mind  full  of  the  days  at  Brambletye. 

He  had  left  the  grave  in  the  care  of  the  village 
sexton,  who,  finding  that  it  was  never  visited,  had 
grown  careless.  The  roses  swarmed  upon  it  un- 
pruned,  and  weeds  were  springing.  The  cross  at  the 
head  of  it  was  screened  by  a  group  of  fox-gloves  which 
had  sown  themselves  there  in  the  previous  year. 

Mechanically  he  began  to  uproot  the  weeds  and 
to  cut  away  the  sprawling  shoots  of  the  roses.  The 
fox-gloves  he  left  untouched.  When  the  work  was 
done  he  stood  awhile  with  his^thoughts,  and  then, 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  283 

turned  back  towards  Old  Place.  His  hands  were 
full  of  thorns  from  the  roses. 

Marian  was  coming  down,  dressed  for  dinner, 
when  he  arrived  at  Old  Place.  He  stood  at  the 
foot  of  the  staircase  waiting  for  her  to  pass. 

"  Guy,"  she  said,  pausing  as  she  came  level  with 
him,  "  you  promised  to  take  me  for  a  walk." 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment  with  absent,  clouded 
eyes,  which  suddenly  brightened  with  contrition. 

"  So  I  did,"  he  acknowledged. 

Marian  hesitated  a  moment. 

"  I  don't  think  I  like  your  Christine,"  she  said 
at  last.  '  Still  waters,'  they  say.  I  feel  that  in 
this  case  they  are  deep." 

Guy  was  about  to  protest.  He  thought  better 
of  it  and  smiled. 

"  Finished  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  That's  all,"  said  Marian.  "  A  word  in  time 
saves  nine." 

"  You're  bursting  with  old  saws  to-night,  Marian. 
And  you're  looking  lovely,"  he  added,  kissing  her 
cheek. 

She  saw  that  one  of  his  hands  was  bleeding  and 
exclaimed  about  it .  He  had  left  a  small  red  smudge 
upon  her  arm. 

"  What  on  earth  have  you  been  doing  to  your- 
self ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No  rose  without  a  thorn,"  said  Guy.  '  There's 
one  of  your  old  saws  back  again." 

"  Your  hands  are  torn  to  pieces." 

'  'Just  a  little  amateur  gardening, ' '  he  said  evasively 

He  wiped  the  stain  from  her  arm  with  his  hand- 
kerchief and  ran  upstairs. 


CHAPTER  VII 


WHEN  Guy  and  Marian  returned  to  Ealing, 
they  looked  for  the  flat  in  town  after  which 
Guy  increasingly  seemed  to  aspire,  .and  in  a  few 
days  he  announced  that  he  had  found  it.  It  was  a 
rambling  suite  of  attics,  lying  amid  the  rafters  of 
one  of  the  theatres  in  Soho.  He  began  to  use  it 
almost  before  Marian  had  remedied  its  deficiencies. 
He  moved  thither  all  his  books  and  music,  his 
favourite  writing  table  and  a  piano. 

He  proposed  to  sleep  there  whenever  there  were 
late  concerts.  Marian  consented  to  this  arrange- 
ment with  a  growing  dread  of  the  change  she  had 
felt  in  him  since  the  evening  on  which  he  had 
returned  to  Old  Place  with  his  hands  full  of  thorns. 
It  was  a  change  so  minute  as  to  be  hardly  per- 
ceptible, a  slight  accentuation  of  the  remoteness 
against  which  she  had  so  often  rebelled.  It  made 
her  shy  of  claiming  him  in  any  way. 

§   2 

Some  three  weeks  after  her  visit  to  Old  Place, 
Christine  stayed  at  the  office  on  Saturday  afternoon 
to  assist  Guy  in  dealing  with  additional  work. 

He  waited  for  her  when  the  work  was  finished, 
watching  her  comb  back  the  hair  under  her  hat, 
and  they  went  out  together.  He  told  her  of  his 

284 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  285 

brother's  wedding,  which  was  to  take  place  early 
in  the  week.  He  was  going  to  try  the  organ  in  a 
church  not  far  away,  where  he  had  undertaken  to 
officiate.  It  would  be  rather  fun,  except  that  the 
bride  had  chosen  the  programme,  which  was 
decorous  in  the  extreme.  He  urged  her  to  come 
with  him  to  the  church. 

In  ten  minutes  he  was  at  the  organ  playing  the 
programme  which  had  been  arranged.  Christine 
watched  him  as  he  played,  her  elbows  on  the  side 
of  the  organ.  He  finished  the  programme,  and 
found  among  the  music  he  had  brought  a  score  of 
"  Tristan  and  Isolde."  He  began  diffidently  to 
transcribe  and  to  improvise  upon  some  of  the 
themes.  Discovering,  as  he  proceeded,  the  re- 
sources of  his  instrument,  he  was  soon  letting 
heathendom  loose  among  the  aisles  and  arches. 
He  was  intensely  conscious,  as  he  played,  of  the 
brooding  face  of  his  companion. 

He  finished  abruptly  and  pushed  in  the  stops. 

That's  music  for  a  wedding,"  he  said.  "  But  it 
wouldn't  be  the  marriage  that's  made  in  heaven." 

"  You  play  it  well,"  said  Christine. 

The  observations  of  Christine  invariably  had  the 
effect  of  making  any  silence  which  might  follow 
them  almost  oppressively  significant. 

§3 

After  he  had  seen  Christine  to  an  omnibus,  he 
returned  to  the  flat. 

The  clock  on  the  mantel-piece  chimed  eight 
o'clock.  He  was  due  at  Ealing  for  dinner.  The 
ill-lighted  room  was  already  full  of  shadows.  He 


286  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

went  to  the  telephone  and  called  up  his  wife.  He 
heard  her  voice,  with  the  softness  in  it  which  she 
always  had  for  him. 

"  Is  that  you,  Guy  ?  " 

"  Marian,  I  shan't  be  home  this  evening." 

"  It's  the  fourth  time  this  week,  Guy." 

"  I'm  sorry,  dear,"  was  all  he  could  say. 

They  exchanged  good  night,  and  he  put  up  the 
receiver.  He  had  heard  the  feeling  in  Marian's 
voice,  and  he  had  wounded  it. 

For  a  moment  he  almost  changed  his  mind  and 
decided  to  go  to  her.  She  would  spend  the  evening 
reading  and  playing  alone,  nursing  that  hardly 
perceptible  estrangement  which  he  himself  had 
lately  felt  in  her. 

But,  when  it  came  to  the  point,  he  was  unable 
to  move. 

§4 

Guy  returned  to  Marian  in  time  for  lunch  on  the 
following  day.  She  made  no  allusion  to  his 
telephone  message,  and  received  without  comment 
his  announcement  that  he  would  probably  sleep  at 
the  flat  during  the  week  until  Thursday,  which  was 
the  day  before  Theodore's  wedding. 

In  the  afternoon  he  was  summoned  to  view  and 
to  assess  the  musical  library  of  a  country  house  not 
far  from  Southgate.  On  these  occasions  he  usually 
took  Christine. 

They  motored  out  in  the  early  afternoon.  The 
house  lay  well  beyond  Southgate,  in  the  unspoiled 
country  on  the  Western  borders  of  the  wooded 
country  near  High  Barnet.  Guy  sat  well  back  in 
the  open  car,  watching  Christine  as  she  turned  from 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  287 

right  to  left,  missing  no  feature  of  the  perfect  day, 
open  to  the  influences  of  air  and  sky,  the  shining 
trees,  and  the  spray  of  the  wild  flowers  in  the 
hedges. 

At  six  o'clock,  when  their  work  was  done,  they 
stood  outside  the  house  faced  with  the  alternatives 
of  walking  back  to  Southgate  or  taking  a  bridle- 
path through  the  woods  to  High  Barnet.  They 
chose  the  bridle-path. 

The  path  was  wilder  and  less  frequented  than 
they  had  imagined  from  the  map.  They  descended 
to  a  brook  by  a  steep  decline  on  which  the  roots 
of  giant  trees  served  often  as  a  stairway. 

Christine  walked  a  little  in  front  of  him.  Her 
still  profile,  the  slow  grace  of  her  moving  arms,  and 
her  dark  tranquillity  held  him  as  by  a  spell.  He 
could  see  her  face  taciturn  as  the  blank  sky  and 
the  sullen  trees. 

A  train  came  down  the  cutting  which  lay  across 
their  upward  path  from  the  trough  of  the  valley. 
When  it  had  passed,  the  place  seemed  more  than 
ever  remote  and  wild.  The  train  slipped  away  to 
its  suburban  station,  a  fugitive  reference  to  the  life 
he  had  been  leading  for  the  last  few  years,  and  left 
him  there  fatally  alone  with  Christine. 

Often  in  the  course  of  their  growing  intimacy  he 
had  hoped  that  she  might  become  less  remote. 
The  impulse  to  do  something  which  might  induce 
this  event  had  never  been  so  strong  as  during 
their  walk  down  into  the  valley.  He  was  flogged 
by  a  passionate  curiosity  in  which  there  was  an 
unconfessed  desire  of  possession. 

They  climbed  out  of  the  valley.    Christine,  on 


288  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

arriving  at  the  summit,  stood  still  in  the  path, 
which  now  ran  across  open  grass,  and  looked 
silently  at  the  country.  It  was  as  though  she 
desired  to  refresh  her  eyes  with  light  and  colour, 
with  the  broad  pastures  and  dim  trees,  sweeten 
her  mind  with  the  free  air  and  deepen  her  thoughts 
with  the  nightfall.  She  stood  as  though  dilated 
by  these  influences,  comprehending  and  absorbing 
the  beauty  and  power  with  which  they  were 
charged. 

Some  wild  ponies  loose  on  the  common  wandered 
up  and  inspected  them  cautiously,  as  though  the 
animals  had  been  struck  by  something  hardly 
natural  in  their  frozen  attitudes. 

From  that  moment  of  silence  Guy  was  to  date 
the  years  of  his  discretion.  The  impulse  to  break 
down,  by  some  challenge  abrupt  and  inescapable, 
the  reserve  which  kept  Christine  inviolate  suffered 
a  sovereign  prohibition.  He  rebuked  it  in  the 
presence  of  that  sybilline  figure.  She  stood 
beyond  the  clutch  of  possession.  To  molest  her 
under  the  influence  of  an  emotion  which  had  its 
sources  in  vanity  and  desire  became  for  him  in  that 
moment  an  act  of  impossible  levity.  He  was  sud- 
denly content  to  leave  whatever  there  might  have 
been  intimately  between  them  among  the  things 
unadmitted  and  unexpressed  which  live  secretty 
in  every  heart. 

Silently  he  renounced  discovery  of  the  girl  beside 
him  in  the  conviction  that  henceforth  he  would 
remain  alone  in  conquest  or  defeat.  For  a  moment 
he  shrank  from  the  bleak  solitude  of  a  life  dedicated 
to  an  object  not  yet  plainly  declared.  Then  it 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  289 

seemed  as  though  a  secret  energy  sprang  alive  in 
him  to  meet  a  destiny  unknown  and  to  keep  him 
faithful  to  a  purpose  obscurely  formed. 

They  started  to  walk  on,  as  though  without  a 
word  between  them  they  had  simultaneously 
decided  to  do  so. 

The  ponies,  which  had  stood  motionless  in  a 
semi-circle  watching  them  with  necks  pushed 
forward,  flung  up  their  heads  and  trotted  away. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

§  i 

GUY,  who  was  due  that  night  at  Ealing,  went  to 
the  flat  instead. 

In  the  morning  he  woke  to  find  the  sun  streaming 
into  his  room,  and  the  telephone  bell  ringing  close 
beside  him.  He  picked  up  the  receiver  of  the 
telephone. 

"  Is  that  you,  Guy  ?  "     It  was  Marian's  voice. 

"  Guy  speaking,"  he  announced. 

"  Have  you  everything  you  need  for  the  wed- 
ding ?  " 

"  The  wedding  ?  " 

"  Of  course.     Had  you  forgotten  ?  " 

"Er — no.  Of  course  not.  I'm  only  just  awake, 
as  a  matter  of  fact.  I've  arranged  to  be  at  the 
church  before  you  all  arrive  :  yes,  to  play  the 
people  in." 

He  dismissed  his  cab  at  the  church  door.  For  a 
moment  he  had  thought  of  excusing  himself  from  the 
office  he  had  assumed.  He  did  not  feel  equal  to  it. 
He  had  not  eaten  anything  since  the  light  tea  he 
had  taken  with  Christine  in  the  library  at  Southgate. 
He  pulled  out  his  watch.  It  still  wanted  half  an 
hour  of  the  time  fixed  for  the  ceremony.  He  went 
into  a  public-house  close  at  hand  and  hastily 
refreshed  himself. 

On  his  return  to  the  church  he  was  met  by  a 

290 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  291 

smiling  verger,  who  inducted  him  into  the  organ 
loft.  Under  his  eyes  lay  the  music  as  he  had  left 
it  on  the  night  he  had  played  to  Christine.  She 
had  put  her  elbows  on  the  organ  so  that  his  left 
hand,  reaching  suddenly  at  a  low  note,  had  seemed 
about  to  touch  them. 

There  was  a  whispering  and  a  rustling  in  the 
aisles.  The  guests  were  beginning  to  arrive.  He 
prepared  his  music  on  the  desk,  and  began  to  play. 
Soon,  through  the  slanted  mirror  to  his  right,  he 
saw  Theodore  come  down  the  aisle  with  Powicke, 
who  was  his  best  man.  Theodore  looked  the  part 
of  a  happy  and  fashionable  bridegroom.  He  was 
serious,  but  not  solemn  ;  obviously  a  master  of 
himself  and  of  his  destiny.  He  talked  now  and 
then  to  Powicke  in  the  manner  of  a  general  giving 
a  few  last  instructions  to  an  aide  before  the  battle. 

Guy  became  aware  that  somebody  was  trying  to 
engage  his  attention.  He  had  forgotten  to  look 
as  instructed  for  the  signal  which  should  inform 
him  from  the  porch  that  the  bride  had  arrived, 
and  that  the  moment  had  come  to  play  the  pro- 
cessional hymn.  He  modulated  harshly  from  what 
he  was  playing  into  the  necessary  key,  tripping 
into  it  rather  like  a  man  who  stumbles  through  a 
door  which  suddenly  gives  way  under  a  violent  push. 

The  procession,  which  seemed  very  distant  and 
unreal,  was  now  moving  down  the  aisle,  led  by  the 
choir  in  white  surplices.  First  came  the  shrill 
boys.  Some  day  he  would  be  an  organist  and 
train  his  boys  to  sing  some  of  Bach's  forgotten 
cantatas.  Then  the  men  came,  for  whom,  as  they 
advanced,  he  played  a  majestic  passage  in  counter- 


292  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

point  on  the  pedals.  In  the  mirror  he  saw  Marian 
look  up  towards  the  loft  with  a  slight  movement  of 
surprise.  Powicke  smiled,  and  whispered  to  Theo- 
dore, who  stood  waiting  for  his  bride.  Theodore 
also  glanced  up  at  the  loft.  He  looked  as  though 
he  were  annoyed. 

The  service  seemed  interminable.  Guy  went 
mechanically  through  the  programme,  held  between 
the  mirage  of  decorous  figures  below  and  the 
reality  of  Christine  as  she  had  sat  beside  him  within 
reach  of  his  hand.  Theodore  was  now  repeating 
the  responses,  apparently  quite  unmoved  by  the 
awful  gravity  of  his  undertakings.  His  bride  re- 
peated them  in  the  manner  of  one  who  would  never 
be  moved  by  anything.  Guy  wondered  why  he 
should  take  life  so  much  to  heart  when  there  were 
so  many  people  who  could  deal  with  it  almost  with- 
out any  feeling  at  all.  The  formal  world  stood  be- 
neath him,  quietly  and  ceremoniously  disposing  of 
its  vital  business,  while  he,  who  had  somehow  been 
put  there  to  minister  to  its  occasions,  felt  that 
forever  he  would  be  an  exile. 

The  procession  was  moving  again.  It  passed 
under  his  feet  into  the  vestry.  There  was  a  hymn 
to  be  sung  while  the  register  was  being  signed.  He 
began  to  play  the  hymn,  and,  in  the  middle  of  the 
first  verse,  saw  Marian,  who  had  not  yet  gone  into 
the  vestry,  look  up  at  him  as  on  a  previous  occasion. 
Apparently  he  was  playing  the  hymn  too  fast.  In 
fact  it  seemed  almost  a  cheerful  hymn  as  he  was 
playing  it.  Well,  why  not  ?  Theodore  was  pro- 
bably going  to  be  very  happy. 

He  remained  inactive  for  a  moment  after  the 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  298 

hymn  was  finished.  The  Mendelssohn  March  lay 
uppermost  on  the  desk,  but  that  should  not,  of 
course,  be  played  till  the  bride  and  bridegroom 
came  from  the  vestry.  But  silence,  against  a  back- 
ground of  rustling  and  whispering  and  the  noise  of 
human  voices  that  rose  from  the  vestry  between 
his  legs,  was  disconcerting.  He  heard  Aunt  Helen 
ask  where  she  was  to  sign,  and  he  saw  Marian  walk 
from  the  pew  to  join  the  autographers.  He  ought, 
perhaps,  to  play  something. 

His  eye  fell  upon  the  score  of  "  Tristan  and 
Isolde,"  left  there  on  the  night  he  had  played  to 
Christine.  He  began  preluding  softly  upon  the 
principal  themes. 

He  began  to  think  of  Christine  as  he  played. 
He  could  see  her  now  more  plainly  than  the  people 
in  the  mirror.  He  reached  for  some  stops  and 
started  to  develop  the  motives.  Gradually  he  was 
absorbed  into  his  playing. 

Meanwhile  the  verger  was  making  vain  signals 
to  inform  him  that  the  moment  for  Mendelssohn 
had  at  last  arrived.  But  Guy  was  by  this  time  too 
fully  occupied  with  the  organ  to  notice  anything. 
For  him  it  was  now  a  world  of  stops  and  manuals. 

The  procession,  when  it  emerged  from  the  vestry, 
was  met  full  blast.  The  aisles  and  pillars  rocked 
with  ecstasies  which  went  but  ill  with  the  lilied 
stateliness  of  the  bride ;  and  Theodore,  as  he 
walked  into  matrimony  with  a  sober  brow,  inwardly 
cowered  under  the  fantasia.  Matters  were  not 
mended  by  a  sudden  silence  as  the  bride  and  bride- 
groom reached  the  church  door,  followed  by  a 
quaint  plunge  at  Mendelssohn.  Powicke  said  that 


294  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

the  Mendelssohn,  following  suddenly  upon  raptures 
clearly  unauthorised,  sounded  for  all  the  world  as 
though  a  marriage  had  been  arranged  the  morning 
after. 

Mrs.  Theodore  Reval,  turning  to  her  husband  in 
the  car,  said  that  she  would  never  forgive  her 
brother-in-law.  She  suspected  a  deliberate  tra- 
vesty. 

Guy  did  not  move  from  the  loft  till  the  church 
was  empty  and  the  verger's  step  was  upon  the  stair. 
He  realised  his  offence  with  a  smile  of  bitter  under- 
standing. His  life  in  the  normal  world  had  been 
always  a  tragi-comedy.  There  had  never  failed 
an  element  of  the  grotesque  in  the  events  which 
were  gradually  shaping  his  destiny. 

§   2 

That  night,  at  the  flat  in  Soho,  Guy,  as  he  sat 
among  the  shadows,  looked  squarely  at  the  im- 
placable laws  of  life  which  required  that  the  con- 
sequences of  every  act  should  be  fulfilled.  He  saw 
his  whole  career — his  helpless  and  incomplete  life 
with  Sabina,  and  the  mistaken  marriage  with 
Marian — as  a  succession  of  blind  errors. 

Marian  sat  alone,  aware  of  an  estrangement  she 
could  not  measure  or  define,  waiting  for  him  to 
reveal  the  failure  of  their  marriage.  He  was  con- 
vinced that  they  could  never  resume  their  effort 
to  come  together.  Circumstances  had  revealed  the 
necessary  tragedy  of  their  relationship,  and  Marian 
would  read  the  tragedy  line  by  line  every  day  of 
her  life  so  long  as  they  remained  together.  With 
Marian  must  go  the  comedy  he  had  played  with 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  295 

her  for  heroine.  He  had  no  right  to  his  place  in 
the  ordinary  life  he  had  outraged.  It  carried 
responsibilities  to  which  he  had  proved  unequal, 
and  decencies  which  he  had  flouted.  The  wraith 
of  Sabina,  which  had  always  stood  between  them, 
now  beckoned  him  back  to  Brambletye  and  to  the 
purpose  he  had  neglected. 

His  marriage  with  Marian  had  been  always  in- 
complete. There  had  been  compromise  and  accom- 
modation, at  best  it  had  been  a  charming  comedy 
which  often  needed  the  affectionate  and  devoted 
efforts  of  both  of  them  to  sustain.  It  had  left  them 
with  a  sense  of  unreality  and  frustration  which  had 
gradually  destroyed  in  them  all  real  hope  of 
perfection. 

§3 

He  rose  at  last,  and,  getting  a  light,  went  to  a 
neglected  corner  of  the  room  where  there  was  a 
large  oak  chest  into  which  three  years  ago,  he  had 
thrown  the  papers  which  he  had  brought  away  from 
Brambletye.  The  MSS.  he  found  were  clammy 
between  his  fingers,  and  gave  to  his  activities  the 
character  of  an  exhumation.  He  found  at  last  the 
score  of  his  "  Forsaken  Merman,"  which  he  had  not 
touched  since  the  afternoon  he  had  played  it  to 
Marian  at  the  cottage.  He  turned  the  pages  with 
the  curiosity  of  a  man  who  discovers  the  different 
individual  he  was  at  a  period  grown  remote. 
Gradually  he  felt  his  way  back  to  that  time,  but  he 
looked  upon  it  now  with  understanding.  He  found 
in  his  music  the  emotion,  eager  and  uncontrolled, 
which  had  driven  him  to  the  effort  after  expression, 
and  he  recovered  that  emotion  as  he  read. 


296  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

He  felt  it  now,  however,  not  as  a  raw  experience, 
but  as  something  that  had  passed  into  his  character, 
something  he  could  comprehend  and  shape  and 
present  in  all  its  significance.  He  felt  in  himself 
the  power  to  create  from  this  material  something 
in  which  he  might  perhaps  be  justified.  He  was 
directed  to  an  end  that  lay  somewhere  beyond  the 
broken  and  imperfect  phrases  of  his  man  cript,  an 
end  to  which  he  must  henceforth  remain  ascetically 
faithful,  in  failure  or  success.  He  began  more 
clearly  to  realise  all  that  was  implied  by  his  in- 
stinctive renunciation  of  Christine. 

The  morning  light  was  shining  upon  the  page 
when  he  had  finished  reading.  He  took  a  pen,  and 
upon  the  half  sheet  of  paper  at  the  end  of  his 
manuscript  he  planned  the  work  afresh. 

§4 

When  he  met  Marian  on  the  following  day  she 
was  sitting  in  the  drawing  room  dressed  for  dinner. 
They  greeted  as  people  who  fence  discreetly  till  the 
inevitable  hour.  Guy  went  upstairs  and  remained 
with  Raymond  till  dinner  was  served.  Raymond's 
welcome,  so  ingenuously  unchanged  by  the  collapse 
of  all  the  old  relationships,  affected  Guy  profoundly. 
He  sat  with  the  boy  on  his  knee,  thinking  that  of 
all  those  who  had  mattered  to  him  Raymond  alone 
remained. 

After  dinner,  which  passed  almost  in  silence,  he 
sat  with  Marian  in  the  drawing  room  postponing 
his  explanation.  Marian  waited  for  him  to  say 
something  about  his  studied  avoidance.  She 
dreaded  to  learn  what  was  behind  it. 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  297 

He  looked  at  her  as  she  glanced  through  the 
evening  papers,  reading  hardly  a  word.  She  threw 
them  down  at  last.  He  knew  she  was  about  to 
speak,  and  that  she  made  several  efforts  to  begin. 
He  admired  the  courage  with  which,  splendidly 
casual,  she  at  last  opened  with  a  question  in  which 
she  disguised  her  anxiety  with  a  wry  smile. 

"  Why  Tristan  and  Isolde  ?  "  she  asked.  "  The 
bride  was  furious." 

"  I  failed  to  remember  my  instructions,"  said 
Guy. 

"  Maliciously  ?  "  Marian  asked. 

"  Absence  of  mind,"  said  Guy. 

Marian  hesitated.  Guy  could  almost  feel  how 
she  took  up  her  courage  for  the  effort. 

"  And  everything  else,"  she  said.  "  Is  that  also 
absence  of  mind  ?  " 

He  rose  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room  a 
moment.  Then  he  stopped  beside  her  chair. 

"  Marian,"  he  said,  "  I  want  you  to  let  me  go 
and  live  with  Raymond  at  Brambletye." 

Marian  spoke  with  difficulty.  She  had  not 
thought  it  was  as  bad  as  that. 

"Alone?" 

"  With  Raymond." 

She  ignored  the  main  question,  darting  for  relief 
to  a  side  issue. 

But  your  business,  Guy,"  she  objected.,  "  Bram- 
bletye would  be  most  inconvenient." 

"  I've  decided  to  retire  from  the  business." 

The  impalpable  thing  was  now  definite  and 
declared.  She  had  lost  Guy.  Or  rather  (she 
burned  to  think  of  it),  she  had  never  really  possessed 


298  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

him.  She  took  the  blow  as  one  takes  a  thing  sus- 
pected in  advance. 

"  But  why  must  you  go  back  to  Brambletye  ?  " 
she  urged.  "  You  can  live  your  own  life  here. 
Here  or  at  Brambletye  you  can  be  equally 
yourself." 

"  Marian,  dear,  I  implore  you  to  let  me  go. 
Nothing  else  is  possible.  We  are  neither  of  us 
able  to  compromise." 

There  was  a  silence,  broken  at  last  by  Marian. 
She  searched  for  a  missing  link  in  the  story. 

"  There  is  someone  else  ?  "  she  inquired. 

She  remembered  an  evening  at  Old  Place  when 
Guy  had  returned  to  her  late,  with  his  hands  full 
of  thorns.  On  that  same  afternoon  he  had  walked 
with  Christine  to  Brambletye. 

"  Oh  Guy  !  "  she  cried  suddenly,  "  not  that  girl 
I  saw  with  you  at  Old  Place  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be  alone  at  Brambletye,"  said  Guy. 

There  was  a  silence,  in  which  it  seemed  that  the 
ghostly  murmuring  of  a  third  presence  was  audible. 
Both  were  thinking  of  the  dead  wife  who  had  lived 
where  Guy  would  henceforth  be  alone. 

"  I  think  I  understand,"  said  Marian  at  last. 


CHAPTER   IX 

§  i 

DURING  the  days  that  followed  Marian  won- 
dered what  precisely  people  meant  by  a 
broken  heart  ?  Her  own  symptoms  were  not  out- 
wardly alarming.  She  still  went  about  her  work. 
She  did  not  show  grief  in  any  noticeable  way.  She 
had  simply  mislaid  her  emotions.  It  was  as  though 
the  blow  had  numbed  that  part  of  her  conscious- 
ness where  it  fell. 

Ostensibly  Guy  had  simply  retired  into  the 
country  to  take  up  his  interrupted  career  as  author 
and  musician. 

Marian  neither  agreed  nor  disagreed  with  the 
arrangements  made  by  Guy  for  her  material 
comfort  and  security.  She  imagined  she  would  at 
some  time  or  other  have  to  consider  these  questions. 
Meanwhile  she  waited  for  this  anaesthesia  to  pass. 

Guy's  first  visit  to  Brambletye  was  one  of 
inspection  only.  He  arrived  in  the  early  afternoon 
and  let  himself  into  the  empty  cottage.  He  had 
not  entered  it  since  the  autumn  morning  three 
years  ago  when  he  had  left  it  with  Raymond.  It 
had  been  periodically  overlooked  by  the  wood- 
cutter's wife,  but  from  long  disuse  it  was  airless 
and  dead.  He  stood  motionless  in  the  room  below, 
submitting  to  the  influence  of  the  place.  There 
was  hardly  an  object  there  which  did  not  start  a 

399  u 


300  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

memory.  The  interlude  of  his  life  with  Marian 
was  almost  forgotten.  He  could  hear  and  see,  he 
could  almost  touch,  the  wife  who  had  died.  He 
went  upstairs,  and  memory  was  further  quickened 
to  reprove  the  falsehood  of  his  second  courtship 
and  marriage.  At  last  the  silence  which  hung  in 
the  stagnant  air  became  intolerable.  He  walked 
to  the  window  and  threw  it  open.  The  dead  atmos- 
phere of  the  room  stirred,  and  cheerful  summer 
noises  floated  in.  The  cold  past  into  which  he  had 
walked  was  warmed  with  present  life,  and,  from 
dwelling  upon  what  had  been,  he  began  to  think 
of  the  life  he  would  live  henceforth. 

He  looked  soberly  at  the  facts,  and  faced  the 
future  hi  no  forced  attitude  either  of  rebellion  or 
humiliation.  He  had  killed  Sabina  and  deserted 
Marian.  He  could  not  undo  the  past,  but  he 
would  henceforth  test  every  act  of  his  life  with  the 
acid  of  those  bitter  memories. 

For  a  livelihood  he  would  re-enter  the  world  upon 
his  own  terms  without  prejudice  to  the  work  he 
desired  to  do.  In  abandoning  the  profitable 
activities  in  which  he  had  recently  been  engaged, 
he  was  moved  by  no  insolence  or  contempt.  But 
he  knew  that  such  activities  were  for  him  a  negation 
of  everything  to  which  he  was  bound  to  aspire  ; 
that  for  him  they  were  the  bread  on  which  no 
man  might  live  alone. 

In  this  renunciation  Marian  was  fatally  included. 
Neither  for  him  nor  for  her  was  it  possible  to  com- 
promise with  perfection.  For  Guy  such  a  com- 
promise would  mean  a  complete  frustration  of  the 
impulse  which  had  brought  him  back  to  Brambletye. 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  801 

For  Marian  compromise  might  seem  possible  for  the 
moment,  but  that  was  only  because  she  was  still 
in  the  mood  when  to  suffer  seems  better  than  the 
peace  which  puts  an  end  to  the  story. 

§   2 

It  was  in  such  a  mood  that  Marian  made  her  only 
effort  to  induce  Guy  to  return.  Its  weakness  was 
indicated  by  the  fact  that  it  was  made  by  mes- 
senger. 

About  a  fortnight  after  Guy  had  definitely 
settled  at  Brambletye,  he  was  writing  in  the  sitting 
room  of  the  cottage,  when  he  heard  a  footstep  on 
the  flags  outside.  He  rose,  and  was  about  to  see 
who  was  his  visitor,  when  Theodore  appeared  at 
the  doorway.  There  was  no  greeting  between 
them.  They  stood  for  a  moment  silently  looking 
at  one  another.  It  was  Guy  who  spoke  first,  and 
he  went  straight  to  the  point. 

"  You  have  come  from  Marian,"  he  said. 

Theodore  turned  upon  Guy  in  anger,  which  was 
like  an  East  wind. 

"  I  come  from  Marian,"  he  replied.  "  She  asks 
you  to  come  back.  Why  have  you  committed  this 
damnable  cruelty  ?  " 

Guy  looked  at  him  a  moment. 

"  It's  useless,  Theodore,"  he  said. 

"  You  act  as  though  life  were  a  schoolboy's  slate. 
You  can't  rub  out  and  begin  again  whenever  you 
make  a  mistake." 

"  Neither  Marian  nor  I  can  compromise." 

Theodore  stifled  his  anger  to  plead. 

"  Guy,"  he  said,  "  you  have  caused  Marian  the 


302  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

most  bitter  suffering.     She  asks  you  to  come  back. 
She  sends  me  here  to  do  what  I  can." 

"  You  have  done  what  you  can.  If  I  were  going 
to  return  I  should  have  yielded  to  the  look  on  your 
face  when  you  came  in.  My  life,  beyond  change  or 
remedy,  is  here." 

He  indicated  the  table  where  lay  the  manuscript 
on  which  he  had  been  working  when  his  brother 
entered. 

"  But  why  should  Marian  be  excluded  ?  " 

"  The  thing  is  beyond  us.  It  just  happens  to 
be  so." 

"  If  you  persist,  Guy,  this  is  probably  the  last 
time  we  shall  meet.  I  have  loved  Marian  all  my  life." 

Guy  put  a  hand  on  his  brother's  arm. 

"  It  would  only  be  adding  another  blunder  to 
the  tale  if  I  did  what  you  suggest." 

Theodore,  without  addressing  another  word  to 
his  brother,  turned  and  left  the  cottage.  Indigna- 
tion contended  in  his  mind  with  perplexitj?  and 
with  a  sense  of  fatality  which  ended  by  dominating 
his  anger.  He  walked  fast  and  far  before  he  had 
time  to  clarify  his  impressions. 

His  brother  stood  convicted  past  forgiveness  of 
an  outlandish  levity  which  had  spoiled  Marian's 
life.  He  had  lived  carelessly  upon  the  edge  of 
tragedy.  Yet,  through  all  his  bitter  indignation, 
Theodore  was  aware  at  last  of  a  novel  steadiness 
and  sense  of  responsibility  in  his  brother.  He  had 
missed  the  old  wilfulness,  defying  destiny  with 
blind  eyes.  He  felt  that  his  brother  had  come  to 
a  firm  resolution  with  a  clear  view  of  the  conse- 
quences. Guy  had  met  him  candidly  and  seriously, 


THE  HAPPY  FOOL  308 

like  a  man  who  had  faced  every  possibility  of  the 
situation. 

He  wondered  what  his  brother  would  make  of 
the  new  life.  Was  Guy  to  be  permitted  to  find 
peace  as  a  postscript  to  two  tragedies  ? 

§3 

Theodore  had  left  the  cottage  by  the  front  gate, 
and  he  was  already  far  upon  his  way  before  he 
realised  that  he  was  taking  the  longer  route  to  the 
station  by  way  of  the  road.  On  arriving  at  the 
station  he  found  that  he  had  just  missed  a  train  to 
London,  and  that  there  was  not  another  train  for 
over  an  hour.  It  was  already  half-past  six,  and 
he  would  now  be  late  for  dinner.  He  ordered  tea 
at  the  local  inn,  and,  after  taking  it,  strolled  back 
to  the  station  by  a  path  which  ran  through  the 
churchyard.  He  had  last  stood  in  that  churchyard 
when  Sabina  was  buried  ;  and,  moved  by  a  sudden 
impulse,  he  walked  to  the  corner  where  she  lay. 

The  sun  had  by  now  set  behind  the  Church, 
which  cast  a  deep  shadow  over  the  place.  He 
noticed  that  the  grave  had  been  recently  tidied. 
Some  shoots  pruned  from  the  roses  lay  still  green 
in  a  heap  beside  it,  and  the  soil  between  the  plants 
had  been  freshly  stirred.  This  must  have  been  his 
brother's  work. 

Then  suddenly  he  heard  someone  approaching. 
He  retired  into  the  shadow  of  the  church  wall.  A 
figure  difficult  to  distinguish,  but  in  which  almost 
immediately  he  recognised  his  brother,  came 
directly  towards  the  grave,  and  stood  motionless 
beside  it. 


304  THE  HAPPY  FOOL 

From  where  Theodore  remained  in  the  shadow 
every  movement  of  the  figure  was  plain.  He  saw 
it  bend  low  over  the  grave  for  a  moment.  It 
straightened  itself  and  looked  at  something  taken 
into  its  hand. 

It  came  towards  the  spot  where  Theodore  stood 
beside  the  wall  and  passed  without  perceiving  him. 

Theodore  saw  that  his  brother  had  gathered  a 
rose  from  the  grave  of  Sabina.  He  waited  for 
Guy  to  pass  out  of  sight,  and  then  resumed  his 
walk  to  the  station.  The  conflicting  feelings  of  the 
afternoon  had  given  place  to  another  sentiment. 
He  was  envying  his  brother  the  rose. 


A  few  hours  later  Guy  Reval,  sitting  alone  before 
the  table  in  his  cottage,  wrote  the  concluding  bars 
of  "  The  Forsaken  Merman."  And  he  knew  that 
his  work  was  good. 


Printed  in  Great  Britain  by  The  Crypt  Houte  Preti,  BeU  Laiu,  GHottcttter. 


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